Memories
by Pelman
Summary: And in a thousand worlds in a thousand different universes, she turned the corner. She walked away. And she could never, ever look at the stars without feeling like something was missing. But in one world… COMPLETE
1. She Never Returned

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Doctor Who. Really.

**Author's Note:** The best stories spring from the question, "What if…?" This story began with just the vaguest thought: _What if Martha had never made it back onto the Valiant_?

She still could have been successful in her mission, the Doctor still could have defeated the Master, everything would have been the same—except Martha Jones would have been on the surface of Earth when the paradox was reversed, and so would have remembered none of what happened.

Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Memories**

**Chapter One: She Never Returned**

* * *

_She never returned._

_On that awful, dark day when the Master had taken control, when everything had gone wrong…_

_He had sent her away, with only whispered words to serve as a guide in a suddenly unrecognizable world._

_And she had never returned._

* * *

During the torturous year that followed, he heard only rumors, snippets of conversations about the world's last hope.

Most of it came from the Master, who delighted in hurting him, in mocking him.

Like today.

"Martha Jones! Really, Doctor. If she's anything like the rest of her family, your standards certainly have fallen. And how pitiful the masses are, making up their little stories." The Master glanced over at the Doctor. "Still, we wouldn't want things to go _too_ far. And that's why I've prepared a wonderful demonstration, just for you."

The Doctor remained silent.

"I hear that one Martha Jones is in Japan, of all places. I wonder _what_ she could be doing there." He looked expectantly at the Doctor and then continued on. "Still, I would hate for her to think I've forgotten her."

The Doctor's insides twisted. He stared blankly ahead, hating the danger he had sent Martha into, and torn by the longing that had drawn him here, and kept him here.

The Master paused for a moment. Appearing to find the Doctor's response unsatisfactory, he turned and stabbed at a control in front of him. "My children!" he said, with his eyes locked on the Doctor. "Japan is yours."

And the Doctor could only watch as the Toclafane, the metal spheres that had already wrought so much destruction and devastation on the planet below, went to Japan. And destroyed it all.

* * *

He had thought losing everything after the Time War had been as bad as it would ever get. But this…this was almost worse. To be given hope again after all this time; hope that he was Not Alone, that there was another to share the burden of existence.

To care for someone so fiercely, so deeply—and then to be spit in the face at every opportunity. _I just need you to listen_. It was an almost physical pain, but it went so much deeper.

At first he thought that if he tried long enough and worked hard enough, he could make the Master understand. He could make him _listen_. His mind screamed, _We're the last ones, the only ones left_.

But…

His aching need for reconciliation was gradually being overwhelmed by a growing fear that the Master was held by a bond stronger than kinship alone could ever sever.

But…

He refused to give up. Refused to sacrifice this last reminder of—

* * *

And so the Doctor waited and endured. He had long ago stopped worrying about what would happen to him. His world had collapsed into two people. He spent his days with the Master, and his nights… he thought about Martha Jones.

* * *

Even after Japan the rumors continued.

On one rare occasion Martha's mother was able to talk to him alone. It was only for a few seconds, but it was enough. _They say she made it out alive_.

Sometimes, when the Master wasn't around, he would overhear the guards talking.

_She crossed the Atlantic._

_She's been spotted in America._

It was almost a year after the End of the World when he first heard the words that kindled both startling hope and lingering uneasiness into his hearts.

_Martha Jones…has returned to London._

And the Master knew.

* * *

"My people. Salutations on this, the eve of war." The Master spread his arms outward, embracing his audience. An almost paternal look crossed his face. "I know there's all sorts of whispers down there. Stories of a child, walking the Earth, giving you hope_._But I ask you…how much hope has this man got?"

The Master walked over to the Doctor, his expression mocking, taunting. "Say hello, Gandalf."

The Doctor sat there. Sat there and took it and waited to see what the Master would do.

The Master continued his blithe speech. "Except he's not _that_ old but he's an alien with a much greater lifespan than you stunted, little apes. What if it showed? What if I suspend your capacity to regenerate? All 900 years of your life, Doctor. What if we could see them?"

The Doctor knew what was coming, knew well before the words were spoken, before he was hit with the unimaginable pain of his body's cells growing hundreds of years older in a matter of seconds. And then everything was dark and strange, but he still heard the Master's final words.

"Received and understood, Miss Jones?"

* * *

The Doctor had no doubt the message had been received. What she would do now…he didn't know. After 900 years, trusting had become a little harder with each failure, each loss.

Each heartbreak.

But he trusted Martha Jones. And so he waited in his cage and counted each hour.

And then…

She never returned.


	2. Those Left Behind

**Chapter Two: Those Left Behind**

* * *

_Martha thought, in a detached manner, that rarely had things gone so spectacularly wrong. Standing unseen in the back of the room, protected by the key, it had almost felt like none of this was real, that she was just an observer; a bystander to someone else's horror story._

_But now the Doctor was an old man lying on the floor. The President had been assassinated before her eyes. The Master was taking control and no one seemed able to stop him. And she had just activated a vortex manipulator that would send her down to an unknown and dangerous world. Martha blinked…_

_And the world shifted._

_She was on a large, grassy field overlooking London. And she had no idea how she had gotten there._

* * *

"We're the only two left, there's no one else. Regenerate!"

The Doctor was kneeling on the floor in the control room of the Valiant, cradling the Master. And he couldn't let go. He couldn't let go of the last remaining link to his destroyed world.

In a way, holding the Master, it felt like he was holding—

_He had been the rebel, the one that others pointed their fingers at and warned, "Take care lest you end up like that one." For so many years his world had not been his home; it had been the rock that he pushed against, the safe harbor that he spurned. That spurned him in return. He had taken it for granted, in all its exasperating, head-in-the-sand glory. And there had been few on its surface whose company he enjoyed._

When Gallifrey had died…he hadn't been able to hold any of them. Instead he had left a world burning.

In some ways, he, too, had died that day on Gallifrey.

He had just shut down and ran and ran and ran. And was still running, sometimes. He had thought, with the Master…

_Maybe it's time to settle down._

He had been running for so long. He had been alone for so long.

When after all those years there was another Time Lord…he had grasped at that hope with an intensity that frightened him.

And he had been willing to do almost anything if it meant no longer being alone.

He had known the Master would be expecting them that day on the Valiant. Jack and Martha had trusted him and he had practically led them to slaughter.

Even in the end, after the Master had—

After all the death and destruction.

He couldn't let him go.

But it hadn't been his decision, in the end. The Master had refused to regenerate. And his refusal…

The agony was unrelenting. It tore into him, smashed him asunder.

It hurt to be broken.

He kept holding on to the Master as if by doing so he could somehow hold onto all the pieces of a life that had been broken and broken and broken again.

* * *

"Doctor," Jack said quietly.

The man crouched on the floor before him was motionless for one second, two. Then Jack heard a soft, shaky intake of breath, before the Doctor carefully lay down his burden and laboriously rose to his feet.

But when the Doctor straightened up there was no trace of tears on his face. Only a barren, impenetrable expression that was so…

Silent.

Empty.

Jack faltered, but asked the question that had brought him here. "Doctor, where's Martha?"

The face in front of him could have been made of stone.

He tried again. "Her family really wants to find her." No reaction. "I do too."

The almost unnoticeable wince told him that the Doctor had understood the unspoken accusation in those words. _Don't you_?

There was an uncomfortable pause, before the Doctor closed his eyes and rubbed at his face tiredly. He looked…weary, the fatigue lines somehow more apparent than they had been a moment ago.

After a moment he opened his eyes and looked at Jack. "It's a big world," he said quietly. And for a moment, some deep emotion seemed to catch on the Doctor's face. But what it was...

Jack didn't know.

And he didn't know what to make of this…frozen Doctor. This blankness.

But he could guess.

Jack hesitated, then said, "You think she's dead, don't you?"

The Doctor jerked, his face showing shock. "What?" he said. "No! No, no, no. I was just—" He stopped, then awkwardly finished the sentence. "I was just…thinking."

Thinking. It wasn't hard to imagine the direction of those thoughts. About how much a year can change_._About how it's like it never happened, except—

There was a pause, and the Doctor said suddenly, "I need to…I need to take him to the TARDIS." He shifted awkwardly, as if this was a forbidden act. "Before anyone comes around to…"

"Yeah," Jack said.

The Doctor carefully lifted the still form of the Master into his arms, heedless of the blood that already dotted his usually immaculate jacket. If the burden was heavy, he didn't show it.

"Martha wouldn't be on the Valiant," the Doctor said, as if their conversation had never stopped. As if he could just ignore everything he didn't want to talk about. "Eye of the storm, remember." He glanced over at Jack. "As long as she was on the Valiant she was out of the loop. But once she left…she got caught up in the storm. When time was reversed, it reversed the storm."

Jack said, "And so Martha—"

"—is wherever she was when she left the Valiant." For a moment the Doctor's face lightened, the shadows in his eyes softening.

Jack waited for the Doctor to continue. To say something else. About Martha. About anything. But there was only silence.

"Shouldn't we go find her?" Jack finally asked.

And the Doctor's face shut down again. "I can't—" The Doctor broke off his words, hesitated, then seemed to force himself to speak. "I need to stay here. Fix the TARDIS." He swallowed. "Take care of…" His eyes involuntarily shifted to the body he was holding. Then he looked once again to Jack. "Will you get her for me?"

Yeah," Jack said, "Sure." But he noticed the Doctor never met his eyes.

* * *

It was actually relatively quiet here. And beautiful, with the whole of London stretching out before her. It was almost enough to make Martha forget that she had _no bloody idea_ what she was doing here.

Jack's vortex manipulator was in her hands. The last thing she remembered was holding the aged Doctor on the floor of the Valiant, hearing the Master declare the end of the world…and then, here.

Well, the world still seemed to be standing.

She briefly considered using the manipulator to try and return to the Valiant. Briefly. _Bad idea_. Unless she wanted to end up lost in space AND time.

And then a lone figure crested the horizon and any further thoughts on the matter were interrupted by the very welcome approach of one Captain Jack Harkness.

"Jack!" she said, starting towards him. He broke into a wide grin.

Upon reaching her, Jack picked her up in his arms and swung her around. "Now, there's a sight for sore eyes," he said.

"Jack, put me down!" Martha protested through her laughter.

But when she finally was able to get a good look at him the laughter stopped. Something was off here. If her time with the Doctor had taught her anything, it was a sense of when something was Wrong.

And right now every fiber of Martha's being was screaming at her.

"Jack," she said, "What's going on?"

Jack hesitated for a moment.

"Where's the Doctor? And what—"

"Martha," Jack said. "It's all right. The Master…"

He faltered for a moment before continuing. "The Master's gone."

"What? Gone how?"

Again Jack hesitated. He finally said, "I think the Doctor should explain."

And then she knew. Something had happened. Something he wasn't telling her.

Why did Jack look like he had lived a thousand lifetimes in the time they had been separated? How could the Master just be…gone?

And where was the Doctor? Why hadn't he come to get her?

But Jack wouldn't say anything more.

* * *

Jack knocked on the door of the TARDIS. "Doctor? It's me, Jack. I found Martha."

They waited, a bit awkwardly, for the Doctor to open the door. She still didn't know what to make of the man standing beside her. He _was_ Jack. And yet…

The Jack she knew wouldn't be practically monosyllabic on the trip back to the Valiant. He kept looking at her when he thought she wasn't watching, sneaking glances as if he was afraid she had suddenly vanished from his side.

And when had his face become so careworn?

_What happened? What did this_?

Jack knocked again, but the Doctor still didn't open the door. Finally, Jack stepped back and gave her an apologetic look. "Maybe you better just go in. I still have—" He stopped and grimaced. "Let's just say there are a lot of messes to clean up."

He started to leave, then hesitated, and turned back around.

"Martha?" he said, "I'm glad you're back."

And then he was gone, leaving her alone in front of the TARDIS.

It only took a moment to pull her TARDIS key over her head, and place it in the lock. She hesitated, then turned the key and softly pushed open the door before putting the key back around her neck and stepping inside.

It felt like coming home. The harsh red light from the paradox machine was gone, replaced by the soft earthy tones she'd come to love. And the Doctor…

He was right in the middle of it all. There was clearly still a lot of damage left to repair from the paradox machine. He had glanced up when the door opened, but his eyes had moved past her and right now he was almost frantically working on the TARDIS. It was such a familiar sight that Martha almost laughed.

"Doctor," she said.

He jerked around as if he had been shot.

And that was when she saw the Master. An involuntary gasp escaped her.

She looked at the Doctor.

"Is he…?"

There was a long silence.

"Yes," the Doctor said, staring fixedly at the wall above the body. He had stopped working and was just standing there, hands in pockets.

Looking so lost.

"I'm sorry," Martha said, helplessly.

For a moment the Doctor was silent, then he said. "Don't be. He deserved it." His voice was hard, as hard and rough as granite, and so, so cold. He turned around and began banging away on a piece of the TARDIS that she suspected didn't need fixing.

Martha somehow found the courage to speak. "But you didn't."

She was utterly unprepared for his response to her words. The Doctor shattered. Even with his back to her…he looked beaten to within an inch of his life.

Finally, he turned back around. But when he spoke…her heart almost broke.

"Losing him, even after he—" The Doctor stopped and couldn't look at Martha. "I thought I was mostly over…it."

_Over_ _the Time War. Over losing everyone._She didn't need to ask what 'it' was.

Abruptly, he stepped away from her. "I need to go," he said, still not quite looking at her.

She was caught off guard. "But…what about my family?" Martha said, "And I still—"

"Alone," said the Doctor.

She could feel her face crumple, but before she could argue, or chain herself to the TARDIS infrastructure, he continued.

"I'll be back in a little bit." He was suddenly looking weary beyond comprehension. "But this is something I need to do." _Alone_.

And then they were at the TARDIS door and he was carefully but firmly pushing her out and then the door shut and…

She was still standing there, moments later, when the TARDIS disappeared.

* * *

_What did it mean to have lived so long that your enemies became your family?_

The Doctor built a pyre and placed the Master's body on it.

His world, when it had been millions of people, had ended in flames. Now it was only one, but it still ended in flames.

Burning.

It seemed fitting.

Fire was supposed to purify, to cleanse. But all he knew…

The only thing it left was ashes.

He stood and watched the body be consumed by the flames. And as the fire flickered up into the night, he was also burning the hope the Master had embodied.

_You Are Not Alone._

Until all that was left were ashes.

He walked away, but in his hearts he was running, running, running again.

* * *

It was only a short time before the Doctor returned.

Martha turned to see him walking towards her. He looked old and weary and she found herself wondering what could have happened to so completely transform the most animated man she knew—into this.

"Hey," she said quietly.

He hesitated. "Hey," he said. The word seemed to catch in his throat.

Suddenly, Martha was afraid of what he would tell her.

The cold, hard Doctor was gone, but what was left seemed to be only a shadow. "Martha Jones," he whispered, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes.

Then he was hugging her, wrapping her in his arms as if he never wanted to let go, as if he needed the touch, needed to feel someone. Finally, he held her shoulder-length away and looked at her searchingly.

"Martha, what's the last thing you remember?"

It took her a moment to answer the question. "I was on the Valiant," she said slowly. "You had been…" She stumbled over the words. "Jack gave me his teleporter. After that… I was at some field overlooking London."

"Do you remember how you got down there?"

She suspected her face was all the answer he needed. "Not—not exactly."

"Martha, listen to me very carefully," The Doctor's voice was gentle, but she could see that he was deathly serious. "The time between when you were on the Valiant and when you found yourself in that field; it wasn't a few seconds. It wasn't even a few hours."

She stared at him, not understanding where he was going, even as a little voice inside her head started screaming at her.

"What are you saying?"

"Martha…" The Doctor stopped and looked down for a moment, before meeting her eyes once again. "You were gone for an entire year."

* * *

**A/N:** When I watched "Last of the Time Lords" I wondered why all the people who were on the Valiant when the paradox machine started weren't there after time reversed. This was a rather important question for my story that I attempted to answer to the best of my abilities.

My take on the subject is that the Valiant was the "eye of the storm" both when the paradox began and when it ended. Thus, people who were on the Valiant when the paradox started were "safe" until they left the Valiant and got swept up into the paradox storm. When time reversed, it only reversed the effects of the storm, so these people returned to where they were the instant they left the Valiant's safety net. However, because they weren't on the Valiant when the paradox ended, they would only be able to remember everything up to when the Master activated the machine at 8:02 because the entire year would be erased from their memory.

Get it? Got it? Good. Let me know if this makes any sense. And if it's caught your interest!


	3. Explanations

**Chapter 3: Explanations**

* * *

The words took a few seconds to sink in, then Martha took a half-step back and slid down to the ground, only semi-aware of the solid wall behind her back. "What do you mean, a year?"

The Doctor tucked his hands into his pockets. His composure was relaxed, but his eyes seemed…concerned. "The year that never was," he said.

"But…" How could she have forgotten an entire year? And yet…

The subconscious unease, the vague worry that had lingered these past few hours; it made sense. Even now there was a faint niggling at the back of her mind, a muffled whisper that she could almost hear. If she could just concentrate—

"Martha Jones!" The voice chased away the fleeting sensation. The Doctor was kneeling beside her, looking worried.

"What?" she said.

He shook his head, looking pensive. "It was as if you had just…gone away." He frowned. "What were you thinking about?"

"I dunno." She said the first thing that came to mind. "I missed a whole year?"

"Mmm," the Doctor said, "Yes, yes, I'm afraid you did." Martha noticed he had slipped his glasses on.

A whole year. It didn't seem possible, although being with a time-traveling Doctor had taught her the tenuous nature of impossibility. But to not remember anything…

She frowned as she thought further. "Doctor?"

"Yes," he said, easing down to the floor next to her.

"There was something else," Martha said. "Like there was…" she trailed off, frustrated. "It was _right there_, but I couldn't quite remember."

The Doctor stilled for a moment, then relaxed again. "Probably just a psychological reaction," he said casually. "You want to be able to remember it, and so you imagine that if you think hard enough you can."

The explanation made sense, but some part of Martha was reluctant to let it go. Still, there would be time enough for that later. Right now there was the more pressing issue of how this had all come about. She glanced at the Doctor, suddenly unsure of herself. If his reaction to the Master's death was any indication of what had happened…

The Doctor must have noticed the uncertainty in her eyes, because he leaned back against the wall and put his arms on his knees. "Go ahead," he said. "Ask your questions."

Martha hesitated. She remembered the Doctor's face when she first stepped into the TARDIS. It had been like seeing a stranger.

The Doctor noticed this, too, of course. He gave a small sigh and rubbed his face with his hands. "It's all right. Really. That's what I'm here for."

Martha still hesitated, not so much out of any further reluctance but because she had no idea where to start. "So, a whole year, huh," she said, stealing a quick glance at the Doctor.

"Yup," he said. "Well, actually, it was a year and a day, but who's counting." Despite the flippant tone of his voice the shadows in the Doctor's eyes spoke of how firmly etched in his mind each one of those days was. _But not in mine_, Martha thought. Which brought her again to the matter at hand.

"How did I lose my memories?" Even saying the words felt unreal.

The Doctor clearly was expecting this question. "It was the paradox machine," he said. "When it shut down, all the events that happened while it was running were reversed."

Right. So the machine was running for an entire year and for some reason it had taken that long for them to stop it. "But why do you still have your memories?" She tried to keep her voice from sounding accusing but some measure of hurt leaked through. _Why weren't we together_, _in the end_?

A flicker of pain swept across the Doctor's face, before he said quickly. "I was on the Valiant when the paradox reversed. It was the center of the paradox, like being in the eye of a storm—our memories weren't affected. But everywhere else…" He shrugged. "To the rest of the world it's as if nothing ever happened. Well, the President was still assassinated, but everything after that…" He stopped then, his face hard.

He had bad memories. And she had no memories. But why? The Doctor had used the word "our" when he was talking about being on the Valiant, but who did that refer to? And if everyone who wasn't on the Valiant at that critical moment had forgotten everything, that meant—

"So I wasn't," Martha said. The Doctor looked at her. "On the Valiant, I mean."

"No," the Doctor said. "No, you weren't."

Martha waited, but the Doctor remained silent. She glanced over at him, but his face gave her no cues. "And?" she said.

The Doctor continued staring straight ahead. He answered, "And what?" But it wasn't a question.

Martha didn't know what to make of his reaction. In a quiet voice, she asked, "Doctor, what happened to me?"

And for a split second the Doctor froze. It was so short Martha wasn't sure what she'd seen, but he seemed almost…scared. Then the moment passed and he said flatly, "I don't know."

His reply brought Martha up short. Of all the answers she was anticipating, this wasn't one of them. "How can you not know?" she said, "I'm the one who lost my memories!"

The Doctor winced.

Even as the words left Martha's mouth she wished she could call them back. "I'm sorry," she said. "This is all just a bit…." She waved her hands vaguely as if that would somehow translate what she was feeling, then dropped them back down in defeat.

For a moment the Doctor was silent. Then he sighed and took off his glasses, before turning towards Martha. "After the paradox machine activated…you used Jack's vortex manipulator to teleport down to Earth." He stopped, and looked away.

"Didn't the Master try to stop me?" Martha asked. She remembered Jack giving her the vortex manipulator, but in the chaos aboard the Valiant…

The Doctor stared resolutely at the wall on the other side of the room. There was a long pause. Finally he said, "The Master…had me." Another pause. Martha could feel the tension radiating off the Doctor. "That was who he really wanted." Each word was said shortly, painfully. The Doctor exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "What you did after that…" He tilted his head to look at Martha. "I don't know. All I know is that you succeeded."

He stared straight ahead once again. "I never left the Valiant." He was the Master's prisoner, Martha realized. For the whole year.

"But we heard rumors," he continued. And this, finally, brought a real smile to the Doctor's face. He glanced over at her. "Martha Jones, she's crossed the Atlantic," he said. "Martha Jones, she's walking across America." There was finally some life in the Doctor's voice.

"You're having me on," Martha said, with a slight laugh.

"Nope," the Doctor said, grinning. He started to joke again. "Martha Jones—" Abruptly the smile ended and his face turned dark. "Martha Jones," he said grimly. "The only one who can kill the Master."

"Kill—" Martha said, in shock. "That was…me?" she whispered.

The Doctor looked dismayed. "No! No, no, no, no, no," he said frantically. "That wasn't you." Martha started to ask who _had_ killed the Master, but the Doctor's eyes had become unfocused; his face closed and pained.

As if he was somewhere far away.

Martha looked away.

Finally, the Doctor roused himself and said, half to himself and half to Martha, "No, you didn't kill him." He stopped and his face twisted into a strange sort of grimace. "He did that all by himself."

The Doctor took a deep breath. He seemed determined to finish the narrative. "Anyways, before you left the Valiant…well…the Master had taken over, the Toclafane were coming…and I—" He shifted uncomfortably.

_You were an old, old man lying at the feet of the Master_, Martha thought. That part, she remembered. Again, the Doctor was doing his best to appear unaffected, but Martha could sense the struggle even those simple words cost him.

"I only had time to tell you the barest outline of a plan…and then you were gone." His voice was grim, his posture tense. Remembering.

"And I never came back to the Valiant," Martha said.

The Doctor gave a short nod. He seemed to be drawing further and further into himself.

"And that's why I lost my memory. Because I wasn't on the Valiant when…when time reversed."

Another nod.

"But if you never saw me again," Martha said, "How do you know I succeeded?"

* * *

The Doctor's hearts were clenching so hard he thought they might stop. He couldn't stop the voice in his head that was screaming… _Why are trusting me? Look at you. An entire year, gone…_

He couldn't stop the memories.

Outwardly, though, he had to be calm, he had to be patient, even though he would have rather been anywhere than in this room, explaining things to Martha, when so many memories were still crying out, demanding his attention, ripping him open. But he owed her this much at least.

Much, much more than at least.

"The paradox machine enabled the Master to bring the…Toclafane…to Earth." His mouth unconsciously twisted around the word. Martha looked like she was about to ask what the Toclafane really were, but he rushed ahead before she could say anything. "They conquered…everything." He briefly closed his eyes, taking refuge in the darkness. Remembering the destruction the Master had wrought.

"The Master ordered the world's population decimated, and that was just a start. The earth was enslaved." He was gritting his teeth, once again feeling the helpless rage. "That went on for a year." _A year I could do nothing_.

He was editing heavily now. "I integrated myself into the psychic network." He gave a hard laugh. "And you spread my name around the world. That was the plan. When the countdown came, I used that connection to free myself. Jack got rid of the paradox machine and…and the Master died." He was suddenly exhausted, and he steeled himself for the questions that were sure to come.

"But…" Martha's voice trailed off.

He could see she was hesitant to say anything. He couldn't blame her. But while part of him was more than willing to leave Martha in silence, he really just wanted to get this all over with. "Go ahead," he said wearily.

She flushed, but said cautiously, "I just…why didn't he regenerate?" She winced a little after asking the question, obviously anticipating his reaction. And even though he had been expecting it, the words hit the Doctor hard. He closed his eyes again.

_Why didn't you regenerate_?

It was a question he didn't know the answer to.

It was a question he would be asking himself, in his heart of hearts, for a long time.

It was a question that already haunted him.

_I win._

He opened his eyes and looked, with blurred vision, into the worried face of Martha. "He didn't want to," he said, and just saying the words was a dagger to the heart.

Martha looked as though things were finally starting to affect her. "I was gone for a whole year," she said.

"That's right," the Doctor answered.

She appeared overwhelmed. "But how can my memories just be gone," Martha said, frustration and confusion shading her words. "When I think about missing all that time it feels like there's this…this wall, blocking my memories, and if I think really hard it's as if I can almost make them out. It's like they're _right there_ and I just can't reach them."

"Martha," the Doctor said, his voice gentle, "That's impossible."

She turned away from him, but not before he saw the tears. "Why? Why couldn't they be my memories?"

The Doctor sighed heavily. "When I said the year that never was, I meant that—literally. When the paradox machine was destroyed, everything that occurred while it was running…it never happened." A voice whispered _not everything_, but he ignored it and continued on. "It wasn't even as if it was erased, it literally did not happen." He turned towards her. "Those can't be your memories because there _are no memories_."

Martha angrily swiped a hand across her face. "I'm sorry," she said. He knew he should tell her there was nothing to be sorry for, but he somehow lacked the strength. Instead, he just listened, as she tried to act like nothing was wrong.

He was all too practiced at spotting denial. Physician, heal thyself.

"It's all a bit of a shock, I guess," Martha said.

"Quite right, quite right," the Doctor said hurriedly. "It's only natural. After all, it's not everyday that you find you need to celebrate your birthday twice!"

This brought the desired smile.

But he could see the turmoil still tumbling beneath the surface. And the mention of birthdays had served as a reminder for another concern—

"Doctor," Martha said urgently. "My family, are they—?

"They're fine," he said. Then a brief shadow passed across his face. "Safe."

Which could have been an addition or a correction. But he had explained enough that he felt it safe to let her go.

"Come on," he said, standing up and pulling her to her feet. "Your family's been waiting for you."

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter was hard to write without bogging down under the mounds of exposition. I worked hard to use the information that most readers will already know from watching "Last of the Time Lords" (but that Martha doesn't know) to reveal more about the Doctor and Martha and show aspects of their feelings that will be important later on. Any comments or critiques would be welcome; they help me to get better.


	4. Fallout

**Chapter 4: Fallout**

* * *

The Doctor took her to the room where her family was waiting. Outside the door he paused. "Martha," he said, his face very serious, "Your family…"

A blast of fear swept through Martha. "They're all right?" she said. "The Master didn't—"

"No," he said hurriedly, "They're safe." He hesitated. "But they were on the Valiant with me. They still have their memories." His voice was grim.

The Doctor turned to Martha, his eyes concerned. "Martha…the Master made them his servants. They spent the year as his prisoners. And…" He looked away, searching for words. "They saw…awful… things, during that year."

The Doctor looked away, pensive, then seemed to mentally shake himself.

He turned to Martha again. "Just…be patient with them, okay?"

"Okay," she said slowly. The Doctor's words were unsettling, not the least because it wasn't usual for him to show so much concern for the feelings of others. And she wondered…what else hadn't the Doctor told her?

The Doctor didn't immediately open the door. Instead, he stepped to the side. Martha looked at him questioningly. "I'd just be in the way," he said. "Go on. They're waiting for you." He gave a brief smile and nodded at the door.

Martha took one last glance at the Doctor, then turned the handle and slowly stepped inside.

Her family was gathered around a table in the center of the room. Her dad. Her mum. Tish. They looked…tired. Weary. Almost…damaged, in a way. There were other changes as well. Her father's arm was wrapped protectively around her mum. She smiled at the sight. "Hey," Martha said quietly.

* * *

After almost being crushed by their hugs (and there were plenty of tears as well), she sat down at the table with her family to talk. But it was awkward. Sometimes…it felt like she was talking to strangers. And for the first time it really hit Martha: they had lived a whole extra year.

A year she didn't know about.

It was clear that the Doctor had told them about her memories, because they didn't push to know what had happened to her. But none of them seemed to want to talk about their own experiences, not even her mum, who always had something to say. And Martha didn't want to press. So the conversation was hesitant, with everyone trying to stick to safe topics.

Then an innocent remark sent things into a downward spiral. Her mum told her, anxiously, "You can stay with us as long as you need, till you get back on your feet."

Martha got a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. "But…" she said helplessly, before stopping. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do; to look into those faces that had seen so much hurt and add some of her own. But…

She wasn't ready to give up the Doctor.

Somehow she told them, as gently as she could, "I'm staying. On the TARDIS." And Martha winced as confusion turned to realization and then, well, not to anger, but the faces in front of her were far from happy. And it was their pain that was the hardest to see.

"But we've only just gotten you back!" her father said, standing up, looking shaken.

"You've been gone for so long," her mum whispered.

"But…it was only a couple of hours for me," Martha said weakly. How did her family always manage to make it feel like her decisions were utter rubbish?

Her father spoke again. His voice, for once serious, almost broke Martha's resolve. "Your Mum and I…we're going to try to get back together. Be a family again. We just got you back. Don't leave us again."

"I…" Martha swallowed. "I just can't, Dad."

Surprisingly, it was her mum who seemed to understand. "Because you love him," she said unexpectedly.

And Martha had no answer to that.

* * *

She finally left after promising to see them again later that day. By that point Jack had shown up, and arranged to take them off the Valiant. Martha used the distraction to make her escape. The Doctor was standing outside, leaning back against a wall, acting nonchalant. She wondered how much he had heard.

"Hey," he said.

Martha turned to him and tried to smile. "So," she said. "What now?"

The Doctor looked surprised. "Well, I was going to go back to the TARDIS, make a few more repairs, but I thought…" He glanced significantly over at the room where her family was.

A suspicion began to bloom in Martha's mind.

"They want me to stay here," she said abruptly. She looked at the Doctor. He didn't seem surprised.

"Oh?" the Doctor said, carefully.

Martha's heart sank. "Do you want me to go?" she asked. "Just say it then!"

"No," the Doctor said. 'I don't want you to go." His face was tight. "But your family needs you."

"Yeah," Martha said. "And you don't." She turned to go. Where, she didn't know. And he didn't stop her.

But he did follow.

"Martha…" the Doctor said, his voice low. "That is _not_ what I said."

She didn't respond, didn't look at him, just kept on walking.

"Look," he said, breathing hard in his effort to keep up with her. "Maybe you could stay with them for just a few months, get them back on their feet."

That stopped her. Martha turned around. "You'd stay?" she asked.

The Doctor looked uncomfortable. "Well," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I thought I could maybe…pick you up."

And for a moment Martha was tempted by the Doctor's offer. It would let her settle things with her family; maybe find out a bit more about what happened. But the Doctor's words seemed too placating, too smooth. She looked at him and he didn't quite meet her eyes. Martha slowly nodded her head. "Pick me up," she said softly. "You mean you could leave me here and never come back." She turned and ran blindly.

A short time later Martha wheeled hard around a corner and found herself facing the TARDIS. And that was when the Doctor caught up with her. "Martha," he said, holding out a hand as he slowed to a walk. "We need to talk."

* * *

The Doctor knew all too well what was wrong. Their conversation… it had been about two entirely different things and Martha had no idea. He had been speaking on a level she couldn't understand.

He opened the door to the TARDIS. "Come on," he said. "Might as well be comfortable." When she hesitated the Doctor stopped. "At least," he said tiredly, his mouth twisted, "At least then you won't have to worry about me going off and leaving you."

Martha gave him a quick glance, then stepped inside.

The Doctor found himself reluctant to follow. Because he knew what he needed to speak to Martha about.

The Doctor didn't "talk". Oh, he _talked_, and babbled and rambled and diverted and gabbed, but talk? No. Life happened and he moved on. No looking back. Anything else would be unbearable. But…

The Doctor stepped through the door.

Once inside the TARDIS he steered Martha over to a pair of chairs that had sort of migrated into the control room while he had been fixing the damage done by the paradox machine.

"Well," Martha said, after she sat down. "Talk."

He had a sudden urge to put on his glasses. "It's not…it's not that I don't want you here," the Doctor said, suddenly unsure of how to continue. He let out a breath. "It's just…it's not fair. You think I'm always going to be able to protect you, but Martha, I can't." And finally admitting this, to her…the iron clamp on his heart eased slightly. As gently as he knew how, he told her the words that needed to be said. "Your mother's right—and believe me, I never thought I'd say that—but…I'm dangerous. And it's not fair to you; it's not fair to your family."

Martha stared at him, her expression empty. Blank. Finally, she stood up. "Fine," she said quietly. "You look me in the eyes and tell me you want me to leave and I'll go."

He gazed down at the floor of the TARDIS and tried to muster up the words he knew he must say. Glancing back up, the Doctor saw she was just standing there, looking at him and waiting. He had no doubt that she meant what she said. He swallowed, then said, "Martha Jones…"

She remained standing but seemed to crumple. And he tried to get the words out, to say them; then he sighed and said, finally, "I just don't want to see you hurt."

The tension drained out of Martha. It was as if those words brought her back to life.

"Yeah." she said simply. "I know."

_No_, he thought, _you don't. Oh, Martha Jones._

"Martha," he said. "Go and be with your family. Just for today—" The Doctor cut off the automatic protest. "The TARDIS won't be in any kind of shape for serious traveling until tomorrow." Still, Martha was obviously reluctant and so he went on. "I'm not going anywhere. Scout's honor." His words were light, but underneath them was an insistence that made it clear this was not a choice.

His plastered-on smile held until she left and he was alone in the TARDIS. Then it dropped from his face. For a moment he stood there, eyes fixed on the spot where she had disappeared, then he slowly turned to the TARDIS console.

What he'd told Martha was true, but it wasn't the whole truth. No, that had been buried away behind the walls that also shielded the agony of being the last Time Lord; that shielded all those names…

The names of the dead.

The walls that guarded him from himself.

His hand lingered on the time manipulator, the one that would send the TARDIS hurtling off into the vortex. Because he had lied to Martha. When had that started? The TARDIS was fully functional, if not fully repaired. He could press that lever and be gone before Martha even realized anything was wrong.

It would betray her trust.

But it would free her life.

He watched almost unthinkingly as his hand crept closer and closer to the lever. He felt it in his hand. Then—

"Should I leave you two alone?" The Doctor whirled around. Jack was standing in the doorway of the TARDIS, grinning at him.

"Jack." His tone momentarily wiped the smirk off Jack's face, but the man quickly recovered.

"I swung around to say goodbye," Jack said. "I've hooked up with my team and we're heading out." Jack paused, then couldn't resist. "No chance of a goodbye kiss, is there?" he said.

"No," the Doctor said. He knew Jack was expecting a laugh, or a mock protest, but he wasn't in the mood.

Jack walked over to where the Doctor was standing, his expression now concerned. "Doctor," he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the Doctor said, turning away. Apparently he wasn't very convincing, because Jack gave a short laugh.

"Yeah," he said. "Nothing." Jack paused for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "It's Martha, isn't it," he said.

The Doctor's insides froze. "What?" he said.

"I've seen the way you talk about her," Jack said. "Like she's a ghost."

The Doctor couldn't move.

"But she's not, Doctor. She's here. She's fine. And whatever you're hiding, Martha's going to find out eventually. Maybe you should just tell her now."

The Doctor didn't answer. Couldn't answer.

When he didn't say anything, Jack became more insistent. "I was there, too, Doctor. It wasn't much fun, dying at the Master's whim. What happened, Doctor?" The Doctor could hear the concealed hurt in his voice. "What aren't you telling us? No more secrets." Jack's voice was almost pleading.

And for a second he considered telling Jack. Very nearly did tell him. But the Doctor had been holding things inside for too long.

"Goodbye, Jack," he said, somewhat coldly.

For a moment Jack just looked at him. Then he sighed. "Yeah," Jack said, tapping the console in front of him. "Goodbye."

He walked over to the open door, then turned back. "Doctor…" Jack said, "If you ever need me…I'm there." Then he slipped through the door and was gone.

And the Doctor could only stand there and watch as he walked away. But Jack's words echoed in his head, and he found himself setting the coordinates that would take the TARDIS to the alley behind the Jones's residence.

* * *

They left the next morning.

Martha noticed the Doctor seemed unusually quiet. He had been unresponsive, almost brooding, all morning. As to the cause…

There were all too many possibilities to choose from.

So she stepped gingerly and tried to stay out of his way, but after the third hour of near total silence, Martha was desperate for anything to break the tension.

The Doctor was stationed at the TARDIS console. As far as Martha could tell he hadn't actually been doing anything there, but she wasn't exactly an expert.

"So," she asked cautiously, "Where are we going?" The Doctor glanced up at Martha's question before going back to whatever he was doing. But Martha could see he was thinking.

"Well," he said eventually, fiddling around with a piece of the TARDIS console. "I, uh, I thought we'd just stay in the vortex for a while." He didn't look at Martha.

"What," Martha said. "Why?"

The Doctor took a moment to answer. "Oh," he said casually. "I, um, need to make a few repairs to the TARDIS, that's all."

Martha smelled a rat. "Isn't that what you were doing yesterday? You said you'd be done by this morning."

"And now I'm saying it's going to take a couple of day," he snapped. Martha was taken aback.

"Someone's tetchy," she said. "It was just a question."

The Doctor seemed momentarily at a loss for words. Then he turned on Martha. "Yeah, well, we're going to stay here," he said. "That all right with you?"

"Yeah," said Martha, stung. "Fine." The Doctor was obviously in some sort of snit.

Ordinarily she'd have been less willing to let it go, but the last 24-hours had taken their toll and she was tired. Silence descended again on the TARDIS. Finally, Martha could stand it no longer.

"Well, I'll just go unpack, yeah?" she said. Never mind that she didn't have anything _to_ unpack.

The Doctor's only response was a grunt from deep within the underbelly of the TARDIS. Martha rolled her eyes and turned to go. Out of the corner of her eye, the piece of equipment that the Doctor was working on flashed silver—

—_Two metal balls swooped in the air, chasing, slashing. Screams filled her ears as she—_

"Martha!"

The Doctor was standing up, half concealed by the removed floor panel. And he was looking at her with a worried expression, sonic screwdriver in hand.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"I just…is everything all right?"

"It's great," she said, unwilling to admit anything after the argument they'd had. "I'm going to go. That _is_ all right?" Point scored.

"Oh yeah, yeah," the Doctor said, although he seemed reluctant to completely pass it off. "Um…yeah. Just go on ahead." He looked confused. "You know the way."

As soon as Martha exited the engine room she collapsed again a wall. _What was that_?


	5. Nightmares

**Chapter 5: Nightmares**

* * *

_They were coming._

_The only warning was from the screams of those nearby as they were cut down from above. She froze in shock and terror._

_It saved her life._

_Because as long as she didn't move, as long as she stayed frozen, still, barely daring to breathe…they wouldn't see her._

_But that meant she saw everything._

_This was supposed to be a refuge. It was where everyone had come, after…_

_Now it just meant there were that many more bodies to slaughter. Blood splattered around her and on her as the killing continued. And she knew they had simpler, easier, methods of destruction. And she knew they didn't use these now because they reveled in the death and the devastation._

_And she couldn't move._

_By the time it was all over, she felt dead as well. Having to stand there, watching, helpless. It would have been so easy to give in, to pick up a weapon from the hands of the dead and fight back. It would mean her death but she was so close to not caring._

_Didn't care at all, really, except…_

_There was someone out there depending on her._

_But as the screams gradually quieted and the stench rose in the air and she could hardly see the bodies for the tears streaming down her face…_

_She had never felt so alone._

* * *

And Martha woke up, shaking in the dark.

* * *

The Doctor remained in the console room for a long time after Martha left, sometimes fiddling around with the controls, but mostly…thinking.

About Martha. Then the Master. And how your entire world can turn upside down in a matter of minutes.

He was roused from his memories by a growing sense that something was wrong. And as he concentrated, the concern solidified into an urge to go and check on Martha.

He knew the source. Ever since Rose had looked into the heart of the TARDIS, he had noticed a certain—protectiveness—by the TARDIS towards his companions. The thought brought a smile to his face, but it was quickly extinguished when he realized what the TARDIS was asking.

"I know," he said out loud. "But I really doubt she wants to see me right now." This did not go over well. The Doctor winced.

"It's not that simple," he said quietly. "And I don't know if it ever will be again."

The TARDIS remained insistent.

"All right, tell you what," the Doctor said, "I'll just go check on her. She's probably sleeping right now." He didn't mention that he had absolutely no intention of doing anything other than making sure she was still physically on board the TARDIS and then leaving her alone once again.

The Doctor walked down the TARDIS corridors until he came to the one that led to Martha's room. Even from this distance he could see that the light was on. He frowned at the sight. He would have thought she would have long ago been in bed, given the human need to spend large parts of their life unconscious to the world. The Doctor instinctively quickened his pace.

When he reached Martha's room he lightly tried the knob. Locked. When had that started? The locked door gave him an excuse to turn around and forget the whole thing, but a niggling worry of doubt made the Doctor hesitate. While he knew that the TARDIS would inform him if Martha was in any sort of danger, still…

It wouldn't hurt to check things out.

The Doctor pulled a stethoscope out from his pocket and inserted the ends into his ears, pressing the scope against the door. At first he heard only silence. But by listening carefully…

He thought he could hear occasional little gasps, like…sobs? The Doctor straightened. "Martha," he called out softly, then gave a short knock on the door.

There was no response.

"Martha," he called again, just to make sure, but his mind was made up. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and unlocked the door. Then he softly turned the knob and cautiously opened the door a crack.

Peering around the edge, his hearts dropped. Martha Jones was sitting up in bed, covers wrapped around tight, shaking uncontrollably. Her face was withdrawn, and she hadn't yet noticed her door was open. The Doctor tried calling her name again. "Martha."

* * *

Martha couldn't seem to shake off the effects of the nightmare. She had lay awake in bed for an immeasurable length of time, unable to control her fear or do anything other than huddle under the covers, frozen in place and listening frantically for every unfamiliar noise, her subconscious fueling imaginary dangers in the dark.

It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed to finally make her way across the room to the light switch. And still the fear would not go away. Unlike most dreams this one had not faded, had not gradually disappeared with the light. Every moment of it remained. Every image. Every scream.

They wouldn't go away. As if it had been real.

So Martha sat awake, exhausted but unable to relax enough to fall back asleep, unable to stop shivering, and powerless to keep her thoughts from being drawn back to the events in the dream over and over again.

She lost all sense of time, wrapped in her blanket, battling the fear. Not too long ago she might have gotten up and looked for the Doctor. No nightmares remained before the Oncoming Storm. But now, even in her fear, she somehow didn't want to show him any weakness.

And most of all, she wasn't even sure if he would care anymore.

Martha didn't know how much later it was when she heard a murmured voice and turned to find the Doctor standing in her doorway.

She knew she should feel embarrassed, indignant at his intrusion, at him seeing her like this. But all she knew was a profound, overwhelming sense of relief. The Doctor was here. Everything was all right.

"Doctor," Martha whispered.

"Hey," he said softly, closing the door and stepping into view. He appeared hesitant to come further without permission, but must have seen the pleading in her eyes, because he walked over and sat on the side of her bed. "Martha Jones," he said, "you look like you could use a Doctor." It was an old joke, one she'd heard him use before, but it broke the tension in the room, eased Martha's suppressed embarrassment at being so…

_Human_, a voice that sounded suspiciously like _his_ whispered in her mind. Because sometimes she felt like she had to be strong enough, intelligent enough—good enough, or he'd never keep her. That if she was just _enough_, he would…

"What's wrong?" the Doctor asked. His voice was neutral but she looked away, afraid of what she might find in his eyes. He placed his fingers under her chin and directed her face towards his. "Hmm?" He was watching her closely, Martha saw, his face full of worry and even…guilt?

"N-nothing," she said, desperately trying and failing to keep the shudder out of her voice. The words didn't sound convincing, even to herself. "Just…just a nightmare." Now that the Doctor was here, the fear that had had wracked her body with tremors seemed to be subsiding. But the dream would not fade.

"Uh-huh," the Doctor said, slipping on his glasses, belying his belief that this was more than just a nightmare. "Your dream," he said, studying Martha, "What was it about?"

Martha closed her eyes, but she didn't need the darkness to see the terrors. Then the Doctor's hand found its way into her own and that gave her the strength to tell him what she would rather just forget about forever.

"It was…it was the Toclafane," Martha said. The Doctor's grip on her hand tightened, although he didn't say anything. "And…" Something seemed to be blocking the words as she tried to tell the next part. "People died," she finally said, around a growing lump in her threat, "and I was left alone."

These simple sentences did not seem adequate to explain, but the Doctor didn't ask for more detail, didn't launch into a babbled discourse on the dangers of too much sleep. He simply listened. And that offered far more comfort to Martha than any words he could have given.

She looked down and stared at the pattern on her bedspread. "I don't know why I can't just shrug it off. It was just…so senseless." She glanced back up.

The Doctor's face was still, his eyes shadowed. He was staring at Martha. "It always is," he said slowly.

She had seen that look before. Because her dream was his reality. And she knew the Doctor's dead were a nightmare that he would never escape. Gallifrey, always Gallifrey. A wound reopened only too brutally by the Master. There were so many other names as well, most ones she didn't know. Always looming beneath the surface, defined by the pain that she knew he hid away, the hurt that she glimpsed only rarely.

Defined, above all, by the loneliness.

And that was the true horror of her dream. Being the last one standing. Standing alone. Since meeting the Doctor, Martha had certainly faced death before. But somehow, things always came out right in the end. The Doctor made it right. He always made it right. But in her dream, there had just been death and more death, until she was all that was left, standing in the devastation.

Almost to herself, Martha asked, "How do you do it?" Weariness and fatigue weakened her normal inhibitions. "How can you live with that?"

"Death and I…we're old friends," the Doctor said. He tried to make it sound like a joke, but there was too much hurt, too much bitterness buried away.

Martha shook her head, uneasy. "Forget I asked."

But the Doctor hesitated. He gave her a searching look, a strange expression in his eyes. Then he let go of Martha's hand and tiredly rubbed his face. "You don't live with it," he said simply. "Because holding onto something so hard…losing it…it means losing a piece of yourself."

He's surprised he wasn't gutted long ago. The saying is that time heals all wounds, but healing is not the same as removing. The holes, the scars; they remain. And they never go away.

Never.

Sometimes even he doesn't know what keeps him going.

The silence had stretched on slightly too long when the Doctor straightened up and looked directly at Martha. "Life goes on," he said," And you have to move with it." He paused for a moment, then said seriously, "Because the sun will come out, tomorrow."

Martha gave a small smile. "That's a musical."

"Right," the Doctor said. "Sorry." But he wasn't. Because sometimes the sun is not a sun at all, but a smile on someone's face.

"But," he continued, "It helps to have someone by your side." He reached out to give Martha a one-handed hug, but she pulled away. He stopped, surprised. Then he saw her face, looking slightly lost, and pained.

"In my dream," Martha said, almost inaudibly, "I felt so alone and then I woke up and…" She gripped the covers tighter in her hands and stared straight forward. "It felt like it wasn't a dream."

"Martha," he said cautiously, "how many hours have you been awake?"

She refused to look at him.

"I see," he said, his voice suddenly tired. Now the hard question. "Why…why didn't you come and find me?"

Why didn't she go find him? It was a good question. Because deep down Martha knew that it had nothing to do with image or appearance or convenience. It had to do with trust.

"To do what?" Her voice came out more bitter than she had intended. "It's not as if you could use the TARDIS to go back in time and stop me from dreaming in the first place." The unspoken accusation: _Because you don't care_.

"No…" the Doctor said slowly, "No, I couldn't." He brought his feet up on the bed and hugged his knees to his chest, staring off into space. He looked…small. Eventually he turned to Martha. "But…I thought it might help to have someone with you to deal with the nightmares."

And the way he said it, Martha knew he was talking about more than just dreams in the dark.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Yeah," the Doctor said. He shifted on the bed so that he could see Martha better. "You're not alone," he said. "Not while I'm here."

It wasn't any apology. Not out loud. But Martha heard what the Doctor was saying, clearer than any words could tell. He didn't apologize, he moved on.

But Martha was moving on with him.

* * *

_Coming up in_ **Chapter 6: Ghosts**_, the Doctor makes a surprising discovery…_

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter; the support was very encouraging and appreciated! And as of now, this story is halfway completed. (And the revelations are only beginning…)

Anyone have any speculation on what's to come?


	6. Ghosts

**Chapter Six: Ghosts**

* * *

_-The first time it was the words-_

The Doctor was facing a crisis. He was in the kitchen of the TARDIS, eating breakfast with Martha. Well, Martha was eating her toast. He was standing in the middle of the room bemoaning the lack of a certain crucial food item.

"Where did they all go, Martha? This is practically a crime."

"Did you check in your pockets?" she suggested.

The Doctor was affronted. "Yes, of course I—oh," he pulled a banana out of the right side of his jacket. "Ta!" he said with delight. Martha rolled her eyes.

But even that made him happy. Because things felt normal again. Normal was good. His face darkened as past memories threatened to break through to the surface.

Normal was very good.

"So…are we going somewhere today?" Martha asked, a bit tentatively he noticed. Not that he could blame her. Not after remembering the previous time that question had been asked. But that was in the past now.

The Doctor thought about the question. "Yeah," he said. "Why not?" He hopped up on the table next to her and swung his legs back and forth while peeling his banana. "Where'll it be, Miss Jones? The fifth moon of Arfo-Drexto? They have this atium cascade that—" The Doctor stopped. Something was wrong.

"Martha?" he said uneasily. She didn't respond, not at all.

The Doctor got off the table and moved so he could see Martha's face more clearly. "Hello," he said cautiously, waving a hand in front of her face, "Martha?" A more careful examination revealed her entire body was trembling slightly. His worry increasing by the second, the Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and began scanning. "Martha!"

* * *

_The Master has his laser screwdriver pointed at the Doctor and she knows, somehow, that whatever happens next is her fault. That the Master is doing this because of her. But all she can do is watch._

_Then the Doctor is writhing, whirling with pain and the doctor in Martha Jones is also silently crying out, screaming against not being able to help, against not being able to stop the hurt._

_Finally it is over. But she can't see the Doctor. All she sees is his clothes piled on the floor. Then, slowly, a creature with huge blinking eyes pokes its head out of the mound. Except…and here the awful truth strikes because this is not a creature at all, it is the Doctor._

_The nine hundred year old Doctor._

_The Master walks up to the camera and she knows he's looking right at her. He speaks. "Received and understood, Miss Jones?"_

_The screen goes dark._

_And oh, is it understood._

"_Martha!"_—

—And the Doctor's voice finally broke through. Martha blinked and was surprised to find the sonic screwdriver only inches from her face, the Doctor bent over next to her, looking worried. "Doctor?"

"Hello," he said, a grin spreading across his face. He backed up slightly but continued watching her. "You all right?"

"Yeah," she said instinctively, despite the images still flashing through her mind. "Of course."

The Doctor stayed where he was. "Only, it was like you were…gone, for a moment there," he said. "Couldn't hear me, couldn't see me."

Martha tensed. What had just happened? But…it was probably nothing. Nothing to worry him about at least. "I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile onto her face. "Still tired from last night, I guess. I must have zoned out a bit." The Doctor appeared unconvinced, his concern evident.

"I'm fine," Martha insisted again. To distract him, she said, "What were you saying before, about going somewhere?"

The Doctor hesitated a moment and she could tell he didn't believe her, but he apparently decided to let it go.

"Yeah, I—" He paused. "I wanted to," he said slowly, "But I still need to do some…fixing." The Doctor's eyes sought out her own, but she couldn't endure his gaze. He waited for a moment, as if giving her a chance to speak. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

Martha stared down at her suddenly unappetizing toast. Why hadn't she just told him? But these dreams, these…visions, they were too real.

Too real and too raw. She didn't know what was going on. And right now she was hoping it would just go away on its own. That somehow, if she ignored it, refused to acknowledge it; things would be normal. She was fine. But deep down there was a worry that refused to go away. That said she was not fine. And that something was very wrong.

* * *

The Doctor's pace slowed once he was out of sight of the kitchen, and he found himself wandering, accompanied by his thoughts.

He was worried about Martha. No surprise there. It was hard not to be, after…

But there was something she wasn't telling him. All his Time Lord senses were screaming at him that something was not right. What had happened, just now, in the kitchen? That wasn't zoning out. Martha had been completely unresponsive, as if her mind had just…gone away, somewhere.

And before, with her nightmare. When he had first entered her room he almost hadn't recognized the person sitting on that bed. There was something else going on here. He knew there was. But what?

She had come back to him. She was his responsibility once more. He wasn't going to let her down. Not again.

* * *

_-The second time it was the touch-_

Martha sat in the kitchen for a while, battling her thoughts. It wasn't until her tea was stone cold that she finally roused herself, deciding to go back to her bedroom and try and take a kip. Last night certainly hadn't involved much rest.

Her bedroom was quiet, the lure of sleep inviting. She picked up the blanket folded on her bed—

—_She's inside a small flat. It's crowded with people and they're panicking, scrambling and murmuring. "Hide her!" a voice yells, and hands move her into position, cover her with a blanket._

_She lies there in the darkness, listening to the frightened voices fill the room, trying to be strong, trying to be brave. But she can't stop the dread that's steadily rising up. Can't stop. Can't stop. Can't—_

—Martha dropped the blanket from suddenly shaking fingers. She looked frantically around the room. She was alone. No voices. No one else. It was okay. She was okay.

But this room no longer felt safe.

* * *

_-The third time it was the sight-_

Unable to shake off the persistent worry that was growing in the back of her mind, Martha made her way to what she called "the movie room". Filled with some old couches and a telly, it looked more like something from her house than an alien room on an alien spaceship. Being in the place comforted her, reminded her of home. And she needed that comfort right now. Martha collapsed on the couch and raised a remote to turn on the TV—

—_There's an older women, banging the side of an ancient TV, muttering something about some old show. The women's face, if a bit crotchety, displays hints of kindness, yet the sight fills her with a sense of uneasiness. And foreboding. Something tells her she can't trust this woman, but why not?_

_Now the woman is asking her, "Could you do it? Could you actually kill him?" And she starts to answer but suddenly the woman isn't there anymore, instead there's a man about her age and he's running, running, being chased by…_

_By a Toclafane. And she wants to scream at him to get away but then everything goes blurry and the Toclafane isn't a metal sphere at all, but a little wizened head, on a table, and the man is talking to it, wanting to know why it's killing everyone and it says, "Because it's fun!" squealing with glee, laughing madly at the killing, all the killing and then everything explodes in an eruption of light_—

—And Martha was left shaken on the couch. She numbly shut off the TV. And didn't move for quite a long time.

* * *

The Doctor looked up to find his unconscious wandering had brought him to an achingly familiar section of the TARDIS. Rose's room. He didn't come here often, and had instructed the TARDIS to bar the corridor from anyone but him, but sometimes…

"Is it me?" he asked, slowly tracing a pattern in the dust on the door. "Do I follow death or…" He looked up at the door. "Does it follow me?" He took a step back, stuck his hands in his pockets.

"Should I have made her stay with her family?" he asked, then smiled a little. "I know what you'd say to that." He looked down. "It's just…it's hard, looking at her. It…makes me remember. All the ways I've failed. You. Her."

He stood there for a while, silent. Then he walked over to the wall next to the door. Placing his hands on it, he carefully leaned the side of his face against the wall. He closed his eyes. "I miss you."

* * *

The fourth time it happened, Martha was walking through the corridors. Afterwards, desperate to find someplace safe, she had gone to the console room. It wasn't. The sixth time it happened, Martha was beginning to think she was going mad. And that it was time to tell the Doctor.

Of course, first there was the matter of finding him. Finally, on her second swoop through the areas of the TARDIS she knew, Martha spotted him in the library. He was halfway up a shelf, sonic screwdriver firmly gripped between his teeth, reaching for what was, no doubt, a thoroughly incomprehensible read.

He didn't appear to have noticed her. And Martha, standing just in the doorway, was suddenly unsure about disturbing the Doctor. Now that she was actually here….What could she even tell him? _Doctor, I think I'm going crazy…_

Yeah. That'd be brilliant.

This was a bad idea. She couldn't tell him. What would he think, after what she had said to him this morning? Stabs of anxiety accompanied these thoughts, and Martha began to back out of the room.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" The Doctor's words were muffled by the screwdriver.

Martha froze and looked up at the Doctor. "Hey," she said weakly.

The Doctor jumped down from his precarious perch and took the sonic screwdriver from his mouth. "Something you needed me for?" he asked.

There was still a chance she could get out of this. Martha started to say no, that she was just exploring; when the Doctor's screwdriver flashed in the light—

—_It's a Toclafane, but she never imagined this. Because they've caught one and opened up the silver sphere and she sees the creature that the silver hides. But as strange and gruesome as it looks, shriveled flesh and wires twined together…this is not where the horror lies. Instead, she's filled with dismay and disbelief and shock over what it says. What He says._The skies are made of diamonds.

_And her mind races back to what seems like an eternity ago, to a planet at the end of the universe where the last of the human race had pinned their hopes on a dream called Utopia. Where the skies are made of diamonds, a little boy with an infectious smile had told her._

_At first she refuses to accept the implications. But she has seen much, this past year, and has become slightly numb, and this…it sinks in, becoming one more horror in a year of horrors_—

—And Martha found herself sitting on the floor, the Doctor crouching beside her, his face anxious. And as quickly as that, there went any chance of explaining this away. "Yeah," Martha said wearily. "Yeah, there is."

She started to get to her feet and the Doctor quickly moved to help her. "Easy does it," he said. "You took a bit of a tumble there."

"I'm fine," Martha said. At his doubtful look she amended the statement. "At least…physically."

He led her to a nearby table. "Now," the Doctor said, taking the seat across from her. "What's this all about?" He was watching her closely, concern evident. Martha looked away, uncomfortable by the close attention. Well, no help for it now.

"I've been having these…dreams. Only they're not, because…because they happen when I'm awake."

There. It was out.

And the Doctor didn't make a big deal, didn't fuss, although the lines in his face tightened almost imperceptibly. "And that's what happened just now," he said. She nodded her head. "What about this morning?" Martha looked away. After an uncomfortable pause, the Doctor said, "I see." His tone wasn't accusatory, just quiet, but Martha could sense the hurt behind those words. Why hadn't she told him right away?

"I just…I thought it was nothing. I didn't want to bother you, I guess." The Doctor didn't say anything. "But I should have, I know, because now I feel like I'm going nutters."

"Right," the Doctor finally said. He paused, then asked, his voice still quiet, "How many times?"

Martha stared helplessly ahead and tried to think. "I dunno," she said. "Seven or eight? But…it's getting worse." And finally admitting all this to someone, just telling the Doctor, went a long way in making her feel better.

The Doctor slipped on his glasses. "These…dreams," he said, "What are they about?"

She didn't want to have to tell him. "I don't know," she said tiredly, "Just…impossible things, I guess."

"Impossible, right. You know me, love impossible." He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. Martha knew what was coming next. "So, what about this latest one? What was that about?"

She hesitated. "There was this…Toclafane."

The Doctor was watching her intently, but he didn't seem surprised, not like he had been when—

"Like your nightmare," the Doctor said softly. He brought his hands down and clasped them together in front of him.

"Yeah, but this was different. In this one the Toclafane…" She laughed, more out of nervousness than anything else. "The Toclafane were actually people from Utopia."

"What?" The Doctor stared at her.

"I know," Martha said, "Like I said, crazy—" She stopped speaking as she caught sight of the Doctor's face. It was deathly white, his eyes wide and distressed.

"That's impossible," the Doctor breathed.

* * *

_Coming up in _**Chapter 7: Cascade**_...well, to sa__y anything would be to give it away. But the Doctor starts to make sense of all this. And he and Martha actually make it off the TARDIS._

**A/N: **Interestingly, the scene in this chapter where the Doctor stands in front of Rose's room was not in the original draft. I wrote that part at the last minute, but now I can't imagine this chapter without it.

Comments are always appreciated. Thank you for reading.


	7. Cascade

**Chapter 7: Cascade**

* * *

"_Yeah, but this was different. In this one the Toclafane…" She laughed, more out of nervousness than anything else. "The Toclafane were actually people from Utopia."_

"_What?" The Doctor stared at her._

"_I know," Martha agreed, "Like I said, crazy—" She stopped speaking as she caught sight of the Doctor's face. It was deathly white, his eyes wide and distressed._

"_That's impossible," the Doctor breathed._

* * *

"What?" Martha asked, a sinking suspicion already growing in her mind. "Doctor, what is it?"

"That…that was real," he said, staring at her. "That really happened."

"But…" Martha struggled to find the words. "It can't be," she said. "That little boy, he was at the end of the universe! How could the Toclafane—"

"That," the Doctor said, his face distant and his voice agonized, "was the paradox."

Martha closed her eyes; haunted by memories of blue eyes and a cheerful voice speaking the words _They say the skies are made of diamonds_. A wave of nausea swept through her. "That…that's…"

"Yeah," the Doctor said tightly, "It is."

Silence overwhelmed the room. She remembered the Master's words. _If I told you the truth, your hearts would break._

It sounded like they had.

The Doctor's eyes focused on Martha once again. "You shouldn't know that," he said, almost to himself, and she was taken aback by the look of fear that flashed across his face. In an instant, though, it was gone. "What else?" the Doctor asked. His voice was casual, but his eyes were worried; searching, it seemed, but for what she did not know. And Martha wondered…

Why hadn't he told her about the Toclafane?

"Most of them had the…Toclafane," she said slowly, sending a questioning glance at the Doctor. He ignored it. "Sometimes the Master was in them. And sometimes…you."

The Doctor unmistakably tensed, although his face remained impassive. "Me," he said.

He seemed to be almost bracing himself, and Martha wondered how many nightmares there had been for him during the past year, and what he was expecting to hear now. She hesitated. But the Doctor appeared to be expecting her to speak.

"It was like before…with the Master," she said quietly. "When he used his laser screwdriver to…" the Doctor's posture went rigid and she looked down. "Except this time, when it ended…it was you, but it wasn't," she said, "Because you were this little…creature, on the floor." She studied his face and said wearily, "That one's real as well."

"I'm afraid so." He didn't elaborate.

Martha wanted to bury her head in her hands. "How is that possible?" she choked out. The Doctor didn't respond. "Doctor?"

He had rested his chin on his hands and seemed lost in thought. At Martha's words he drew in a breath. "I don't know," he said. "Somehow you're remembering things that happened during…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"But you said my memories are gone."

"They should be," the Doctor said. "They can't be…" He got up out of his seat and stared at the ceiling as if the answer were written on it. "So why…?" he whispered.

He stood there for a moment, his back turned to her. Then he spun around, fists clenched. "Yes!" he said. "Of course!"

He turned to her, face alight. "It's the TARDIS!" His eyes raced as he thought through the implications. "I haven't fixed everything from the paradox machine yet. There has to be something, oh, I don't know…projecting, those memories to you."

He began pacing back and forth alongside the row of bookshelves. "Yes, yes, yes!" he said. "The TARDIS was the center of the paradox; it was probably integrated into the psychic network—that part's still running, you come on board and _bam_, planted memories." He stopped in front of the table, grinning.

Martha struggled to follow the babble of words. "So…they aren't my memories," she said, slightly stung. For a moment, she'd hoped…

The Doctor stilled. "I explained that," he said in a low tone.

"But what if they are? Or even if they aren't." She looked down at the table, unable to keep the desperation from her voice. "What if I _want_ to remember?"

She heard the Doctor exhale, then he came and sat down across from her. "I know," he said simply, "Believe me, I know." His hand reached across the table and covered hers. "But think back to what you've already remembered." His voice was soft but insistent, and almost unwillingly she found her eyes drawn upward.

"Your nightmare was most likely a part of this," he said quietly. "Are those memories you really want to have?" The marked pain in his gaze echoed the unknown faces that walked her dreams, and she involuntarily closed her eyes, once again reliving the horror.

"No," Martha whispered.

The Doctor looked relieved. "I know it's hard," he said, "But these memories…they're not yours. They're just remnants the TARDIS has passed on." His eyes sought out her own. "And I'm going to fix it," he said, almost desperately. "Trust me."

_Trust me._The words set something off inside her. Martha found herself examining the grains of wood running through the table. Finally, she looked back up at the Doctor. "You didn't tell me," she said, and didn't try to keep the hurt out of her voice.

"What?" The Doctor looked startled.

"About the Toclafane. You didn't tell me who they really were." She was watching him closely now, enough to see the miniscule flinch at her accusation. And that was all the answer she needed.

"No," he said. "No, I didn't." His voice was sad but that wasn't going to be enough this time.

"Because maybe if you had I would have figured out that the things I was dreaming about...they were true. But you didn't. Is there anything else?" He remained silent. Martha found herself standing up, fists clenched, so tired of the lack of answers, of the loss of memory. "What else didn't you tell me, Doctor?"

At these words the Doctor froze. "I—" For a brief instant he seemed almost…panicked. Then he swallowed hard and regained control. "I'm sorry," the Doctor said, "You don't know how sorry I am," and his voice was thick with a grief Martha didn't understand.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

The Doctor rubbed his face tiredly. "I know," he said. "I should have. And…" He hesitated. "Maybe I would have, eventually. But right now…" He gave a small shrug, and in that instant…the ruin the Doctor usually kept so well hidden was exposed. Raw. It made her want to weep. And that glimpse...it explained so much. Martha sank back into her seat.

"There are some things I can't change," the Doctor said, and his face was so hard it seemed as though it would shatter. He stood up, seemingly needing to get away from the restriction of the chair. Then he sighed, and his expression softened. "Martha, you shouldn't be remembering these things." His eyes were dark. "I need you to let me help." He held out his hand.

Martha hesitated. As terrifying and sometimes painful as the memories had been, they seemed to be her only chance at regaining a semblance of what she had lost.

The Doctor dropped his head and when he looked back up his face was hollow. "Please."

And she couldn't refuse that.

"Okay," she said, standing up and taking his hand.

* * *

He took her to the console room.

"The quickest way to stop these incidents is to get you off the TARDIS," the Doctor said. Glancing at her, he quickly added, "Just until I fix whatever is causing this to happen."

Martha relaxed. "So we're _finally_ taking a trip."

The Doctor didn't give her his usual grin. "Yeah," he said, moving around the center console, pulling this lever and flipping that switch. But almost despite himself, the Doctor's enthusiasm grew.

"Astor Regis," he said, pumping a handle enthusiastically. "Nothing there but a lot of grass. And the occasional beetle." He beamed. "Perfect for picnics."

Martha laughed. This…this she'd missed. Traveling with the Doctor.

"Yah!" he said, yanking out a knob.

* * *

Of course, it was never that easy.

They were captured five minutes after they left the safety of the TARDIS.

And the flashbacks didn't stop.

* * *

_Soldiers. Always soldiers. In some ways she hates them more than the Toclafane. Because the soldiers aren't so simple as_us _versus_ them. _They are_ us _versus_ us. _All of humanity has been bound together by the tragedy and the destruction, but the soldiers…they have gone over to the other side. And she grows to despise them._

_That is one thing this year has taught her. How to hate._

_Because she has seen so much and heard even more. It has deadened her, made her numb._

_Sometimes, she remembers she used to be a doctor._

_That seems like it was someone else._

_Because now…she's a soldier too. A soldier in a one-man army._

* * *

"I've got you," the Doctor said. He eased Martha down to the concrete floor of their cell. Another flashback. He was quickly becoming familiar with the signs.

Martha took a deep breath, still shaking slightly. "I've been on better picnics," she said, only the slightest quaver betraying her.

He smiled at Martha, but inwardly his mind was racing frantically. This was not good. He was very, very worried. They had been locked up for over three hours now and the flashbacks were becoming increasingly frequent. This was the ninth one, and as time went on Martha had become more and more withdrawn.

He glanced down at her. Her eyes were closed but he knew she wasn't sleeping. "Martha," he said softly. "How you doing?"

For a moment he thought she hadn't heard him, but then she answered. "My head…is killing me," she whispered. And it was no wonder, if he was right about what was happening to her.

If this wasn't being caused by the TARDIS, then…the only other possibility was that Martha's memories were somehow returning. And that…

That scared him. _You didn't tell me._ Those words had been like a ghost rising out of the grave. _What else didn't you tell me, Doctor?_ Oh, there was so much. The words echoed in his head, accusing, condemning. So many secrets, so much he didn't share.

So much pain.

It didn't used to be like this. Well, not as much. Back before…

Back before he was the last.

Martha looked like she was barely holding on and as he watched her eyes fluttered closed once again. Her behavior could mean any number of things. Memories attempting to force their way to the front. Or cognitive damage that he didn't know about. They needed to get back to the TARDIS. "Right," the Doctor said decisively. There was one thing he hadn't tried.

"Martha," he said, "we're breaking out, and I need you to do something for me." She squinted in his direction and he took that for agreement.

"This doorway is guarded by an electrical bypass system—the harder you push against it the more electricity it shunts into your system. Push too hard and…" Martha's eyes were still tracking him, but he could see she was having trouble focusing. He stopped himself.

"But that's not important," he said. "I'm going to overload it and get it down and when I do I need you to take the sonic screwdriver and shut down the actual system. It's controlled by that console over there; all you have to do is point the screwdriver at it. It's already on the right setting."

Martha, thankfully, seemed to be following what he was saying, and a troubled expression was making its way across her face. "What…" the words came out slightly slurred. Martha swallowed. "What are you doing?"

He should have known she'd catch on. "My Martha Jones," the Doctor said. He smiled faintly. "I'm going to push hard enough against the field to stop my heart. When that happens it should bring the field down long enough for you to get through."

Martha straightened up. "No," she said. "It's not worth it."

_You're worth it._He didn't say anything, only looked at her.

"But…it'll kill you," she said.

"Nah," he said with more confidence than he felt. "Two hearts, remember." Then he looked seriously at Martha. "But you've got to get through and shut off that console. Can you do that for me?" He could see that she wanted to protest, wanted to fight him, but lacked the strength. Instead, it was his pleading words that got through to her, and she slowly nodded her head.

"Brilliant," he said. After giving her the screwdriver, the Doctor took a deep breath. "Right. Here we go." He jogged in place for a couple of steps. Then he launched himself at the field.

* * *

The dull hum the field had been making stopped and the Doctor dropped to the floor. "Doctor!" Martha ran from the console over to where he was crumpled, unmoving. She felt a memory begin to overwhelm her vision but with supreme effort managed to push it back down. _Not…now…_

She turned the Doctor over and checked his pulse. It was there. Thready, but there, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Now the true precariousness of their situation hit. They were out of the cell and undiscovered, but for how long?

"Come on, Doctor," Martha said worriedly. She had no medical supplies, no gear, and all she could do was wait and continue to monitor his vital signs.

It felt like an eternity before the Doctor opened his eyes, although it was probably only a couple of minutes. As she watched his body gave a compulsive shudder. "Aagh," he said, "that clears out the synapses."

Martha would have laughed in relief if she had the strength, but instead mustered a small smile while helping the Doctor sit up. As she did so his eyes widened. She followed his gaze across the room to where a previously inconspicuous light was now flashing dangerously.

"Martha…" the Doctor said, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him, "Run!"

* * *

The shouts behind them grew louder.

_Martha Jones. Find her. Now!_

And it was becoming harder and harder to hold back the memories threatening to spill over her consciousness.

_She's standing right there, and they don't see her, not yet, but she knows it's only a matter of time._

She was only half-aware of the Doctor's hand clutching her own, practically dragging her along.

_They're always looking for her. And she knows what happens when they find her._

And her head was splitting in two.

_Because this isn't a game. There are no extra lives. There aren't even any…Doctors._

She was running…from…

_And she has been running for so long. Running around the world. No place is safe. Not from_him_._

Martha's world collapsed inward.

_She is tired. So tired._

Two realities in conflict.

_Is this where it ends? She has asked that question so many times._

Still propelled forward by…

_Martha Jones…_

…the need to…

…_She's going to save the world._

…to…

* * *

The Doctor blasted through the door of the TARDIS, dragging Martha along with him. The door slammed shut behind him, and just in time, if the pounding on the other side was any indication. Exhausted, he collapsed on the floor of the TARDIS, gulping in much needed air.

Eventually the Doctor sat up.

Martha didn't.

"Martha…" he said cautiously.

She didn't respond, didn't react. He scrambled over to her. "Martha?" She limply allowed him to move her into a sitting position against the wall. "Come on, come on…"

He didn't know what was wrong. This wasn't a flashback; she wasn't frozen, wasn't staring at something that wasn't there. Instead, Martha's eyes were jerking around beneath closed lids, and her body was shuddering convulsively in his arms.

The Doctor yanked out his sonic screwdriver and tried every scan he knew that might possibly explain this. He found nothing. Frantically, he tried again to get through to her. "Martha!"

Whether it was his voice or something else entirely, Martha's body stopped shuddering. As the Doctor watched, her eyes shot open. On her face was shock, dismay, and…and something else entirely. Martha slowly reached a hand up to touch her head. Then her eyes sought him out.

"I…I remember everything."

And the Doctor's world came crashing down on him.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	8. Two Lives

**Chapter 8: Paradigm Shift (Two Lives)**

"Most of us have two lives. But most of us don't realize the moment the next one begins."

* * *

_Many times during that year she had thought of the Doctor's words. His last words, before she had used the vortex manipulator to escape to a world she no longer recognized._"Use the Countdown, Martha. Use the network and use the countdown. And tell them about the Doctor."_His last words were "_Think of me…"

_But the plan hadn't gotten this far._

_Actually, as plans go…the Doctor hadn't given her much. For instance, a way to get around to all the major population centers of the world in less than a year would have been nice. Or an easy method to dispatch psycho metal spheres. That would have been downright useful._

_Or how to deal with having an entire population slaughtered around you, and being the only one to walk away._

_That wasn't in the plan._

_And neither was how to get back to the Doctor._

* * *

"_I…I remember everything."_

At Martha's words the Doctor's chest clenches so hard his hearts seem to stop. So this is it, then. No way out. He backs way from her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he says.

He gets to his feet, walks away from her and over to the main console. He is numb, his fingers flying across the controls by rote. Avoiding looking at her. Avoiding thinking.

"What are you doing?"

He doesn't say anything. Can't say anything. The words only barely register in his frozen state.

"Doctor, where are we going?"

He stands there, dimly aware of Martha laboriously getting to her feet behind him. Time has collapsed into a single moment, and he almost doesn't recognize the words coming out of his mouth. They are stripped of all emotion, ripped bare. "I'm taking you home."

* * *

_Early on, she had realized she needed a way to make herself a danger to the Master. Dangerous enough that he couldn't ignore her. That he would want to find her. Find her and…_

_That was always the shakiest part of the plan._

_She was counting on the Master to take her to the Doctor. Oh yes, he would take her to the Doctor. A voice in the back of her mind warned her that what might come after would probably not be a good thing._

_But everything else was done. She had traveled…everywhere, it seemed. Told so many people, their faces blurring together. Now all she could do was wait for the countdown. And she was determined to be with the Doctor for that moment. Regardless of the consequences. Because if it didn't work…_

_So she went to see Professor Docherty. Told her all about the master plan, about the four pieces to the gun that had sent her all over the world. She did not tell the professor about the Doctor. She did tell her where she and Milligan would be staying that night._

_And then the deed was done. And she had a long drive and a long walk to think about the consequences._

* * *

Martha walks over to the side of the main console. "Did you hear me? My memories _are back_," she says.

He knows what is coming now, what her next words will be, and it brings his movements to a halt. He tenses, waiting for the blow. But after a short time, all she says is, "Doctor? Say something."

He looks at her blankly, then says, "I was afraid of that." He knows it is the wrong thing to say but no other words come to mind.

The words stop her. On her face realization slowly dawns. He doesn't try to change the words, doesn't try to make it better. It is what he deserves. She looks away and when she turns back to him her face has lost some of its warmth. "You didn't want me to remember." It is not a question.

He can't meet her gaze, just slowly shakes his head.

"Why?"

A thousand responses rush past in his head. _Because…if you didn't remember, it was like it never happened. I could pretend it never happened._

_Because it was my fault._

In the end he says nothing.

But this is Martha Jones, and she won't take no for an answer. She must know what this is leading to, but she comes over to him and when she speaks her voice doesn't hold the condemnation he expected. Instead it is quiet and slightly tired. "Why, Doctor?"

And he knows he needs to face her. This, he owes her. "I…" He sighs heavily. "What's the last thing you remember?"

He forces himself to ask, then braces himself again.

* * *

_She always forgot her fear when she was talking about the Doctor. Even after all this time, it was brilliant to be able to tell all these people about the man they owed so much. And talking about him, even in the dark and the dirt and the despair…_

_It was like he was there, for a little while._

_But while she was talking, the Master arrived. And suddenly, she felt very much alone._

_The people in the hovel reacted quickly, hiding her under some coats on the stairs. She doubted this would fool anyone._

_No one argued to give her up, to give her over. At least not yet. The world over, people had risked their lives to try and keep hers safe. It amazed her and humbled her and kept her going each day. But she had also learned…_

_Not everyone would betray her. But anyone would._

_Even though she had made it out of some very tight situations before…that wasn't the plan tonight. And even though this was what she had wanted, what she had hoped would happen…_

_She realized she was shaking._

_But…the Doctor was out there, somewhere. So she slowly started to take off her key. It was time to stop running._

* * *

The Doctor notices the deep breath Martha takes before answering. Her face looks sick. "It was the day before the countdown," she says. "I was in a…work home, in London. And the Master…he had found me."

She trails off as though having trouble saying the next bit. He can't help it, he flinches. She looks at him strangely, then shrugs. "All I can remember is taking off my key. Then…" and the Doctor's heartbeats freeze on that word "…everything's blank."

He is hyper alert now. He isn't sure if he can believe her and studies her face closely, searching for signs of deception. But all that is there are shadowed eyes, still slightly haunted by the memory of that moment, eyes looking for comfort in his own. This is real. That is really all she can remember. He replays her words, searching to make sense of this. Then it hits.

He feels like a dead man pardoned. The relief is all-encompassing, overwhelming. "The key!" he says, smacking himself across the head. "Martha Jones, you are brilliant!"

She looks at him like he's grown another head. "What?"

"The key was the key," he says, the rush of endorphins making him giddy.

Martha clearly isn't following this Abbot and Costello routine and he rushes to explain. "The key shielded you from the effects of the psychic network, but it also partially shielded you from the effects of the paradox itself." He can't stand still, the relief making him want jump up and down. He settles for pacing back and forth in front of Martha, hands punctuating excited words.

"Cause it was a TARDIS key, wasn't it. And that key had a connection to the TARDIS itself. Which was, obviously, the center of the paradox. Oh, that's brilliant!" He clasps his hand on his head, struck that the answer has been staring him in the face this entire time. "When time reversed, the key's connection to the TARDIS protected your memory."

He looks thoughtfully at Martha. "Not as much as actually being on board the Valiant would have done, of course, which is why you had all these problems. Your memories were…hidden away, buried by the pressure of time reversing. It's taken this long for them to dig themselves out."

He grins at her expectantly.

* * *

_It was a year of living with constant fear, dealing with constant loss, facing constant doubt and dread._

_It made her realize what it felt like to be alone. To have people depend on you to save the world._

_But she wasn't the Doctor._

* * *

She remains silent following his explanation. "Martha?" he says uneasily.

Her face is too still. She is looking at him like he is a stranger. Then she speaks, abruptly. "What happened after that?"

He struggles to hide the shock this question brings. "What?" he says.

She looks at him steadily. "After the Master found me. What happened?"

The fear is once again washing over him, but he forces himself to appear calm. "I don't know."

But she has caught on now, his Martha Jones, and those intelligent eyes are looking unwaveringly into his own. "I think you do," she says.

He attempts a response. "Martha, I told you…" He trails off helplessly as she walks away. From him.

Her head is bowed and her fists clenched. When she turns back there is a cold understanding in her face. "Why were you taking me home?"

He stumbles through an answer. "I…I thought you'd want to see your family, catch up on old times!"

She looks at him and she seems so weary. For a moment he thinks, hopes, she might give it up. But it seems she is only mustering up her courage for the harder questions. "Why did you look so afraid when I said my memories were back?"

It feels like there is a gaping hole being ripped into his stomach. "It was…it was a bit of a shock," he says, steeling his face from all expression. He doesn't know why he is trying, even now, to keep her away. As he looks at her, he thinks both of them know…

There is no going back.

Because Martha has twigged it, now. She places her hands on the console. "What don't you want me to remember?" she asks quietly.

He is frozen. He can't move.

"Before, too, when I told you about the Toclafane. You were scared, Doctor. Scared!" she says. "You were hiding something then too, weren't you?"

"No. No! I was—"

"And you were so sure they weren't my memories. Or was it that you didn't want them to be my memories?"

"Martha, I—" He finds he doesn't have the words.

Her voice is quiet now. "I noticed, you know. I noticed that you had changed. But I thought it was, oh, the Master's death and all the things that had happened during the year I couldn't remember. But it wasn't, was it? It was me." Her voice drops to a whisper. "What happened to me?"

There is a plea in her voice, something he very rarely hears. But to answer that question...she is asking too much. She looks at him and seems to sense what he is thinking. Her face hardens.

"Just now, you weren't surprised when I said the Master had captured me," she says. "But you should have been. You said you didn't know what happened to me. But the Master would have told you. _That was the plan_." The words rush out, without thought, as if Martha has repeated them many times before.

She stops, unshed tears in her eyes. "I was trying to get back to you," she says, almost to herself. Her voice is small. "What happened to me?"

He hesitates, then says, hating himself, "I don't—"

"Don't." Her voice is half-broken. "Don't lie to me. I went all over the world, Doctor. For you."

He is quiet then.

He knows he should get up, should leave, or even better, should pull that lever on the TARDIS that will take Martha back to where she belongs. Away from him. But he can't.

And she has just reminded him why he can't.

"What won't you tell me?"

Still he remains silent, but inside he is close to breaking. Because this is too much. He can't do it anymore. Always hiding, always pretending…

All the lies.

"What happened, Doctor?"

And this breaks him. His name. Because he has seen this in his nightmares, this look, these words. Every time he sleeps. Always crying out for an answer.

She shouts at him, "What is it, Doctor? What won't you tell me?" Days of confusion and hurt spilling out, her desperate words reverberating across the TARDIS.

And he can no longer remain silent.

"You died." His voice cracks.

These words are followed by a sudden, deathly silence.

"You died," he repeats, and he can feel his hearts shatter with each word, "and I couldn't stop it.

He is broken.

"I couldn't stop it…"

* * *

**A/N:** This is the idea that inspired this entire story. If you look back at previous chapters, this revelation has been foreshadowed quite heavily, both by the Doctor's words and his actions. Did anyone guess? Or was it a complete shock?


	9. Sacrifices

**Chapter 9: Sacrifices**

"There is always a cost."

* * *

_He had ample time to think, over that year. Nothing to do but think, really. And many of those thoughts were directed towards Martha. Because she…she was the one who had to be the Doctor now. His own world had become a single room on a single ship._

_But in a way his entire world was on this ship. Many times at night he would lie awake, imagining the stars, the many worlds he had visited. And the one world he wished he could visit more than anything. The one he never again could. But a piece of that world had come to him. The only piece left. And that was what kept him here._

_He never lost hope. But for all that, there were many other things he lost over that year._

* * *

_You died…and I couldn't stop it._

The words echo in his head, competing with all the other voices clambering for attention.

The voice of the dead. His constant companions.

The curse of the Time Lords.

But he remembers back, to before Gallifrey was gone. And he wonders if it really is the curse of the Time Lords.

Or if it is just the curse of _this_ Time Lord.

Because there is a reason he is called the Doctor. He hears the cries of the hurting and the helpless. And he tries to make it better.

And he often fails.

As the years pass, the scars grow thicker and the cries are sometimes deadened. But he can't stop trying.

It is killing him.

He often apologizes to the dead.

They usually can't answer back.

* * *

"Oh, Doctor," Martha whispered. She had no other words. Because for this…she had no memories, only the reflection of the Doctor's hurt. But that reflection was agonizing.

The Doctor walked over to the wall of the TARDIS and placed a hand on it, his back to Martha. Every movement seemed an effort, as if he was holding himself together by sheer will. "I'm a coward," he said. "I was…glad, that you didn't have your memories." He gave a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "I'd hoped…" He hesitated, then spoke in a low voice, tinged with irony. "I'd hoped to spare you the pain." He wouldn't look at her.

* * *

_It was rule one. Don't wander off. Of course, they never obeyed him. Rose…she had been the worst. He let himself smile at the thought, even as it flared bright bursts of pain. If he was honest, deep down, he didn't expect them too. Didn't even want them to. But he still told them._

_Because he was a coward._

_It wasn't a rule for them. It was a rule for him. A reminder of his responsibility._

_It protected him. It let him at least pretend they were safe, while he was off doing who knows what. And when he got back and found them missing, well, he had told them, hadn't he? So he could grumble and mutter and pretend to be angry, instead of having to face the fear that this would be the time he failed to protect them._

_Because companions were a double edge sword. Especially now. He had meant what he'd told Donna, that bitter Christmas Eve._ I don't need anyone.

_He'd wanted to believe it with everything he had. Because if he didn't need anyone...maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. But his words weren't quite the truth. And he knew, deep in his hearts, that Donna was right._

I think you need someone to stop you.

_He is hard to kill. But for all that, it is far too easy to die. Because once he left his world burning …he was helplessly sliding, inevitably, to the same fate._

_Rose…_

_Rose stopped the free fall, but it would be all too easy to plunge again._

_Oh, he needed someone. But…siding with the Doctor was a very dangerous thing to do._

_The Master didn't know how true his words were. And the reminder of their truth came with every failure. And it came with most successes. And it came when he was alone._

_Sometimes it came for no reason at all._

* * *

She needed to know. It needed to be asked. That didn't mean it was easy to force the words out. "What…" Martha swallowed. "What happened?"

For a moment he didn't move, his body rigid. Then, abruptly, he turned around. "The Master—" The Doctor stopped and closed his mouth, looking suddenly very exposed. His eyes flicked away from Martha.

She took a step towards him, and was startled when he stumbled back against the wall, then slid to the ground. "It's okay," she said, worried now. "You don't have to—"

"No," the Doctor said, holding out a hand to stop her. "It's just…hard." He sounded…drained. Lifeless.

The Doctor crossed his arms on top of his knees and rested his chin on them, eyes unfathomable. He stared off into the distance, looking at something Martha couldn't see. Finally, he spoke.

"It was the night before the countdown." The words were expressionless, emotionless, as if the only way the Doctor could get them out was by reducing them to mere letters in the air. "The Master brought me to you. In my cage." His mouth twisted around the word. "He had already shot you. You were dying."

* * *

_It was a dirty alley in London, filled with people with guns. At first he didn't understand why the Master had brought him here. Then he saw the body, crumpled on the ground. Then, he knew._

"_What have you done," he breathed, nine hundred years not masking the fury in his voice._

"_She's dying," the Master said, then almost as an afterthought added, "Because of you."_

_He didn't respond, stricken by the sight in front of him._

"_Laser screwdriver. Setting 1," the Master said casually. He stared at the screwdriver, seemingly fascinated. "I pulled it off quickly enough that it didn't kill her right away." He bent over, looking intently at the Doctor through the bars of the cage. "Such a touching reunion…how could I have missed it?"_

_He found his voice, then. "Master, please. I'm begging you." He was beyond caring about himself now. "Don't do this." He's heard himself like this before. In his nightmares._

_The Master looked at the Doctor. Then he spun around and walked over to Martha. Delivered a vicious kick to her torso. Martha weakly curled up, coughing. The Master ignored her, turning back to him. "You can't stop me, Doctor."_

_The Master kept him there, long after the figure on the ground stopped moving._

* * *

"I…" the Doctor buried his head in his arms. When he looked back up his voice was low, "_Begged_ him. Just… just to let me help you."

The room was quiet for a while. The only sound was the Doctor's harsh breathing.

"He refused. He wanted me to see…" The Doctor seemed not to be talking to Martha anymore. He seemed not to be in this room anymore. "All I could do was stand there and watch, like…"

He didn't finish the sentence. Martha heard him anyways. _Like I've had to do for so many people._

The Doctor drew in a broken breath. He finally met her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His words were tinged with desperation.

"It's all right." Martha didn't know what to say.

"No. No, it's not," he said. "People…they die, around me. People I—" Again, he didn't finish the sentence.

Martha hesitated, then slowly walked over to the Doctor. Sank down next to him against the wall. Braced herself and said softly, "People you care about."

Predictably, the Doctor's face began shutting down, like a door closing, the expression she'd come to recognize meant he was done discussing a subject. "You get used to it," he said, but was betrayed by the break in his voice. He looked down and when he spoke his voice was so quiet she almost couldn't hear it. "No. No, you don't. Ever."

She felt so inadequate. Because death had not yet come to her, not in this way. And not nearly to the depth the Doctor had stored up over the years. Except, it seemed, in one respect.

She had died.

And wasn't that the crux of it all.

Instinctually she slipped her hands over the Doctor's. "I'm here," she said. "I'm still here."

He said nothing.

She kept one hand on his, hoping it would convince him of the truth of the matter, and leaned her head back against the wall, wondering, not for the first time, how she had come to this. If she had never met the Doctor…

Ha. She probably would have been a doctor by now.

But if she had never met the Doctor…

She spoke haltingly at first, the words unsure on her tongue. "It was my choice," she said. She didn't look at the Doctor. "I didn't have to come back." She could feel his head turning next to him.

"What do you mean?" The voice was rough.

Martha looked down at the hands in front of her. "I wanted the Master to find me. I made sure he would find me."

_That was the plan_.

She took a deep breath. "And Doctor," she said, finally turning to look at him. "I would do it again."

* * *

He wants to believe her.

But this life is not for everyone. Because when you fight, there is always a cost. That's the only rule.

And sooner or later, he finds, most people are no longer willing to pay that cost.

He says quietly to Martha, "Thank you." He walks her to her bedroom. He says goodnight. He hides the doubt. But already he is pulling back, pulling away.

_I don't need anyone._

* * *

_I would do it again._

Later that night, Martha stares at her ceiling, sleepless despite all that had happened….

When the Doctor told her _You died_—She didn't know what to think. Didn't know what to say. _I'm feeling better now…_

But in this dark room with the shadows flickering around her…it seems all too real.

Traveling with the Doctor is brilliant. The best thing that has ever happened to her.

It is also the worst.

Death. She has never really thought about how close a companion it has been on her travels with the Doctor. But it is always there.

…_She is in a hospital on the moon and uses her last breath on a man she has just met, before succumbing to the darkness…_

…_She is in an escape pod drifting helplessly on a collision course with a collapsing sun…_

…_There is a gun to her head and the man with the choice will not choose her…_

And this last time, it seems, death was more than a companion.

She remembers her mother's words, spoken, it seems, a lifetime ago. "Look around you! Nothing but death and destruction!"

For the first time Martha wonders if she is right.


	10. The End of It All

**Chapter 10: The End of It All**

* * *

The Doctor finds himself in front of Rose's room once again. He knows why he is here. And he can't bring himself to touch the door. Instead he sits down against the wall across from the room. Lets the silence wash over him.

When he speaks his voice is softer than a whisper.

"She's going to leave me." When he is at Rose's room, there is only one wall that matters. All the other ones, the ones he builds to hold a life that has been broken so many times, they cannot hold.

The Doctor rests his arms against his knees and stares blankly ahead. "I remember how upset you were about Sarah Jane. But sometimes…" He buries his head in his arms before looking back up. "Sometimes I leave so they can't."

_The curse of the Time Lords._

The Doctor leans his head back against the wall, takes his eyes away from that solid door. "I could make her stay." The words come as a confession, giving voice to what he doesn't want to acknowledge. "Six words, remember? I have the words that would keep her from leaving."

Presently the Doctor sighs and lowers his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "I won't, though." He keeps his head down. "I can't. Because…"

When he looks up his eyes are suspiciously bright. "She died. Like—" His voice breaks. He cannot finish the sentence.

It is silent for a while, the creaks and groans of the TARDIS like a cradle rocking in the night. Then the Doctor gets to his feet, slowly, painfully, and stands in the middle of the hallway.

"It's okay. I don't need anyone."

And he doesn't know what Rose would say to that, because when she was with him, he _didn't_ need anyone.

When he leaves the corridor he doesn't feel any better.

* * *

Martha Jones stands in front of the mirror in her bathroom and observes the face looking back at her. It is like looking at the face of a stranger. Because these eyes…they have seen so much. So much suffering. So much devastation. All crammed together in a year that often made her want to fall to her knees and cry with despair. So many memories…

The past night was a battleground for her thoughts, a mostly sleepless struggle that leaves her barely standing here this morning. A struggle over a decision she never thought she would make.

And as she stands in front of the mirror this morning, she is trying desperately to find a reason to give him, words that will make him understand.

Because…it is time. She gave up a life to go gallivanting across the universe with a man she had never met. And she gave _up_ her life because of that same man.

And that…that was the end.

Because this isn't the life she planned.

She was Martha Jones. She was always going to be the best. Always knew that if she worked hard enough she could make anything happen. She was the one her family depended upon, the one friends turned to, the one teachers and colleagues counted on. And she threw all that away for a man who…

_Is the most brilliant person you've ever met._

_Has shown you wonders you never even dreamed of._

But there is a dark side to every fairy tale and the universe is both beautiful and terrible and the Doctor is brilliant and terrifying and now all she sees is the one constant shadow that haunts them everywhere…

It is death.

She is tired. She is so tired.

And she doesn't think she can do this anymore. Doesn't think she wants to do this anymore. It is breaking her. She needs to get out.

Martha tells herself this, looking at the stranger in the mirror, and it's true, all of it, every word.

So why is her heart screaming?

But she has made her decision. And Martha Jones is the best, so it must be the right one.

She leaves the bathroom with only the vaguest idea of what to say, but knowing that to put it off any longer will be to put it off forever.

* * *

The Doctor was in the console room. And it might have looked like he was working on the emergency power booster. But he wasn't. The only thing he wanted to fix was something he couldn't. The only thing he never could.

When Martha appeared in the doorway, he knew. But he kept his head down, appearing intent on the work he was doing. Feigning that he hadn't seen her, that he was very busy.

And he knew he wasn't fooling her, and he felt her waiting, just on the edge of his peripheral vision.

"Doctor?"

He glanced up, then, pretending to be surprised. Pretending there was nothing wrong.

"Right then," he said, ignoring the look on her face, the one that said she had something to tell him, the look he had seen on Donna, that Christmas, and on Tegan, the day she ran away, and on Romana, in the end, and on Ben and on Polly and on Leela and Jo and Nyssa and Victoria and Mel and…so many others. Even on bloody Mickey-the-idiot.

The look that meant goodbye.

He was being foolish. He should just get this over with. But…he couldn't.

"Off we go! The open road! There's a burst of starfire right now over the coast of Meta Sigmafolio. Oh, the sky is like oil on water. Fancy a look? Or…back in time. We could…I don't know, Charles II? Henry VIII? I know, what about Agatha Christie? I'd love to meet Agatha Christie. I bet she's brilliant!"

His final words were close to a desperate cry. He was trying too hard. Trying desperately to salvage something from the year that had ripped so much away from him. And his voice finally trailed away and they were left in silence. He hunched over the main console, gripping it so hard his knuckles were white. Then he finally faced her.

And they both knew…

This was the end.

"Okay," he said.

He was so tired.

* * *

Martha had planned what she was going to say. Had been going over it in her head, the reasons, the explanations. And with one word he had cut the foundation beneath her. "I—" She didn't know what to say. What was there to say? "Just…just let me get my things." She couldn't meet his eyes.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay."

She had reduced the most chatty man in the world to this. He made no move to stop her, gave no indication of anger or outrage. And if his eyes were a shade darker and the lines on his face a fraction tighter, well…

This was her. Getting out.

She began to leave, then hesitated. Without really knowing why, she turned back. The Doctor hadn't moved.

"Why did you choose me?"

The question blurted out. From seemingly nowhere. She supposed…some part of her needed to know. Needed to know what she was to him.

He looked up, bleary-eyed, confused. Wondering what she meant.

What she really meant was why, on that day so long ago, he had decided to let one Martha Jones on the TARDIS. But that…that wasn't something she could ask. Instead she said, "On the Valiant. Why me? Why did you send me?"

Comprehension dawned on his face, then. He looked away before once again bringing his eyes to meet hers. "Because," he said wearily, "I trust you."

Martha stood there. Then she turned around and left. Then she sat down in the corridor and cried.

She didn't know why she had asked him. And she had been expecting him to say any number of things. To keep her safe. Because she was there. Or some flippant comment. _Oh, Martha Jones, you're brilliant._

But this, this blindsided her.

_I trust you._

Not _I trusted you_.

I

trust

you.

* * *

She didn't know how long she sat there.

She never cried. Ever. Not in a hospital on the moon. Not when she was alone in 1913. Not even facing down the Master. But now she couldn't stop. And she didn't know why.

She looked up and saw the Doctor, standing in front of her, hands tucked in pockets. His eyes were worried. "Martha?" he asked.

She could only numbly shake her head and try helplessly to stop the sobs wracking her frame.

He stood there, motionless, unsure. Then he sat down at the wall next to her, put an arm around her and pulled her close. Didn't say anything, just sat there with her.

At last the tears began to dry up. "I'm sorry," she managed to choke out. He didn't protest, didn't make a big deal.

"It's okay," he said simply. His eyes showed his concern. Then, "We've arrived. Back on Earth, I mean." She looked at him, searching for any hint, any indication of what he was thinking. Searching, if she was honest, for a reason to stay. But his face was a blank wall.

She let out a breath and slowly nodded her head. "Okay." Why did it suddenly feel like her life had become locked onto a path she had no hope of leaving?

"Do you need your things?"

"What?"

The Doctor jerked his head in the direction of her bedroom. She hesitated. "No," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Nothing much there anyway." A clean break. For everyone. This wasn't home anymore.

And she knew, deep down, she would never be able to look at those things without—

The Doctor got to his feet, then turned to help her up.

"Shall we?" he asked steadily, turning towards the console room. Back to Earth.

"Yeah," she said tiredly. Just…"Yeah."

He escorted her through the branching framework of the TARDIS coral and it seemed as if they were locked in a strange dance, a two-person drama playing out on a stage. They reached the door. She turned to him.

"Well," he said, "I guess…this is goodbye." Martha could only nod.

She stepped down onto the street, by a familiar corner close to her home. She looked back. The Doctor stood in the doorway. His eyes were unfathomable. "Martha Jones," he said, "you saved the world."

She had made it two steps when the Doctor's voice stopped her again.

"Why did you do it?"

She turned around. "What?"

"Leave that ship. Leave your family. Walk the Earth for a year, telling people…telling people—"

She turned away, not able to face him. "Because," she said to the street, as she heard the door close, not even sure he would hear her. "I trust you." And then the tears started again and she didn't try to stop them.

She remained there, not moving, as she heard the whooshing of the time vortex.

When she turned back around, the TARDIS was gone.

* * *

And that was when Martha Jones' life ended.

And in a thousand worlds in a thousand different universes, she turned the corner. She walked away. She called her family, sat through a teary-eyed reunion. She became a doctor. She helped people.

And she could never, ever look at the stars without feeling like something was missing.

* * *

_There will be one more chapter. Originally, there were only supposed to be ten chapters, but this section was so long I ended up splitting it into two._


	11. Memories

**Chapter 11: Memories**

* * *

_And in a thousand worlds in a thousand different universes, she turned the corner. She walked away. Then she called her family and waited until they picked her up, sat through a teary-eyed family reunion. She became a doctor. She helped people. _

_And she could never, ever look at the stars without feeling like something was missing._

_But in one world…_

Martha Jones stands silently in the street. Then she slowly walks over to the spot where the TARDIS disappeared. Stands there under shifting shadows cast by the disappearing sun.

Stands there until the stars come out.

Then she steps away. Starts walking. Because the stars are shining and she isn't out there in them.

With him.

* * *

Her feet fall into familiar patterns of movement, driven by the subconscious urge to keep moving, keep going, even in this old new world where there is nothing to run from. This world is safe.

This world is normal.

She feels lost.

* * *

She looks up from her wanderings to find herself in front of an achingly familiar, weathered brick house. The Jones residence. Once, it was the place she called home.

Once.

She doesn't go to the front door. Instead, she crosses the yard and walks to a side window she knows is almost overrun by the tall bushes that line the sides of the house.

She takes a shuddering breath. She looks in the window.

And there is her family.

Knees suddenly weak, she slumps down against the wall beneath the window. Buries her face in her arms.

She hears their murmured voices. Her family. For a moment she just sits there, eyes closed.

_This is your life._

Why can't she believe it?

* * *

She sits beneath the window, hidden in the shadows. And thinks about saving the world.

And how it was never about saving the world, not really.

Because a world is a big place.

It needs to be compressed, condensed, anchored on all the little bits that frame the madness of existence into something small enough to deal with.

When she saved the world, she'd saved it for the Doctor. That entire year, it was her gift to him. She did what he'd taught her. She'd been brilliant.

And now the world is saved. And now her family is safe. And now she is free to do whatever she wants, to live her own life. Except—

The world suddenly seems too small. Because what she wants…

It is bigger on the inside.

* * *

She straightens up and takes one last look into the window. Then she starts walking. And she doesn't stop.

* * *

_The Doctor is here. She can see he is alone. He is standing far away, his hands in his pockets, but his voice resonates like he is speaking directly in her ear._

_"Why did you leave me?"_

_It echoes across the distance._

_She doesn't understand. _

"_Why, Martha Jones? Why did you leave that ship, leave your family? Walk the Earth for a year, telling people…telling people—"_

_She turns back around. She knows he can't hear her. "Because," she says softly, "I trust you."_

_ "Why did you leave me, Martha Jones?" _

_He sounds so lonely, so lost. He has almost disappeared, but she can hear his final words. _

_ "Everybody leaves me…"_

"_No!" she cries. "No." And she starts running towards him, but each step leaves her sinking lower and she never seems to get any closer and then she looks behind her and the Master is there, watching her. And the Doctor calls to her. _

_ "Run, Martha Jones. Run!"_

_She does. But she has nowhere to go and nowhere to run because she is stuck on a planet that is just the tiniest speck caught up in the vast, vast expanses of all of space and all of time._

* * *

She wakes up on a park bench in the middle of the city, stiff and cold. She barely remembers falling asleep the previous night.

She feels tired despite the rest. Or perhaps because of it.

She senses more than sees the movement behind her. But when she turns around there is no one there. And she is probably imaging the whooshing sound in the distance.

And her heart cries at what her mind refuses to acknowledge.

She is still Martha Jones. She still has the same credentials, references, and ability. More knowledge, more experience. She could go back to her family and go back to school and go back to…

A job. A flat.

Life.

But those all represent a choice. A choice she thought she made.

A choice she now knows she can never make.

And there is nowhere left to go.

* * *

So it is that Martha Jones waits.

Almost unconsciously she drifts into old patterns of movement and observation; patterns ingrained over a year of traveling.

Walking around London she begins to recognize faces. People she has seen before. At first she cannot place where they are from, and then it hits—these are the faces from her memories of the Year that Never Was. These are the faces of the dead.

She starts to watch for them, to seek them out. To see these faces, these dead faces living out their days. Having the life she thought she wanted.

Because that is what she asked for, really. To be able to forget it all. To be able to walk away. Except—

She can't forget what she can't remember. And the one thing she doesn't remember is…

The end. The end of it all.

She knows now that she can never walk away. The ghost from the Year that Never Was will always haunt her. The ghost that is her.

* * *

As always, she dreams.

_"You died. You died! And I couldn't stop it…"_

_It is so dark. _

_It is the Doctor's voice but she can't see him anywhere. And it is so, so dark…_

_"Is everything all right?"_

_"It's fine."_

_"It's fine."_

_"It's fine!"_

_It's always fine. That's what they pretended, both of them. _

_But it never was._

_"How can you live with that?"_

_He told her once, she remembers. But when she looks down all she can see is a gaping hole where her soul has been ripped apart. _

_"You're not alone. Not while I'm here…"_

_He isn't here. Not anymore. And she's so lost._

_She is dying right now._

_ But in the blackness she hears herself speak, words that are from a lifetime ago._

_"It was my choice. I would do it again."_

_And then she is falling._

—Martha jerks awake and her heart is pounding, _so hard_, and it is breaking and she is crying and the only sound rushing through her head are those words.

_It was my choice…_

* * *

That's what she's doing now. Making her choice.

She starts to seek people out. Tom Milligan. Professor Docherty. She…helps. Does what she can. Behind the scenes and in the dark.

There is a military organization she eventually stumbles across. UNIT, they call themselves. It doesn't take much to…get in. The people there don't understand her—she hears the whispers behind her back—but they accept the information she offers easily enough.

She hates it there, because it reminds her of the Doctor. Everything he is and everything he isn't.

But she stays.

Because it reminds her of the Doctor.

* * *

She begins to feel like she is being watched. But there is never anyone there.

She has no fear, anymore. Where before…everything…she kept away from certain parts of the city, the places everyone knew you avoided after dark, now...

She spent a year walking the world. A year as a soldier in a war that was one against everyone. A year where there was nowhere too dangerous because everywhere was too dangerous.

She saved the world. There is no place she won't go, nothing left to scare her. She sleeps under the stars at night and cries at the beauty of it all.

All of it is home and none of it is.

And she wonders if she is going mad.

* * *

It has been a year now. She doesn't keep track of the days passing. She doesn't need to.

And she wakes up on a bench to find the Doctor sitting next to her.

* * *

Martha sits up. Watches him disinterestedly. He is gazing at the horizon.

"You don't deserve this, any of it. You deserve better." He turns to face her. His face is a little sad, a little grim. "Martha Jones, you were supposed to have a brilliant life."

"I died, remember." She knows he isn't real.

For a moment, hurt flashes across his eyes, and she feels ashamed, even if he isn't actually here.

"I didn't mean that," she says quietly. "It's just…have you ever thought you knew what you wanted, only when it happened—" She looks down. "Everything was wrong."

"Yeah," he says simply. He once again stares off into the distance. "It was my fault, do you know. All of it, my fault."

Even if he isn't real, old habits die hard and she searches for the words to remove the guilt, remove the pain, make it better.

But the words aren't there. So she just sits and listens to him talk.

"I removed Harriet Jones from power. I gave him the chance." He won't look at her now. "He wouldn't have bothered, wouldn't have cared. Except for me." The words sound worn. As if he has been waiting awhile to say this.

He leans over and rubs his face for a moment. "I knew the keys wouldn't work. I didn't care. I was willing to do anything if…if it meant I wasn't alone."

He looks at her, then, as if she is his confessor, his judge. She wonders what part of her subconscious this is coming from.

"It's nice not to be alone," she says finally. Then stares down at her hands, lets the silence grow. But in that silence, pressure is building up inside her chest. Because there is something…something she needs to tell him. Something he is the only one who can possibly understand.

Even if he is just a figment of her imagination.

The pressure builds to a breaking point before the words burst out. "There were _so_ _many_," she says, and hates that her voice breaks.

But she finds she cannot stop.

"The Master never stopped looking, and he never stopped punishing. Whole cities razed to the ground. Just because he thought I'd been there."

She watches as her fists clench and unclench on her lap. "The worst—the worst was the people I…I knew. The people who helped me. And I had to just watch—" Her voice gives out then.

She can hardly bear to look at his face. But when she does, all she sees is understanding.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he says, "You never should have had to deal with any of that."

She declines to point out the obvious. That this is here, this is now, and she _is_ going to have to deal with it. For the rest of her life.

They sit there in silence for a while, before she looks away. "You're not real, are you?" she says. "And you're going to disappear, and it's going to be just me again."

Silence greets her words. She turns back.

There is no one there.

…But a small key lies where the man was sitting.

* * *

She knows it is impossible. But one thing the Doctor taught her—what is impossible, in the end.

And so she takes one more chance to believe in the impossible.

* * *

Martha Jones is standing in the alleyway, where everything began, when she hears a voice.

"Martha."

She doesn't move. An image flashes into her mind. It is of a man, in a hospital robe. He is lounging casually against a wall, hands in pockets.

The image fades and she is suddenly exhausted. She doesn't turn around. She can't.

And she doesn't know what to do.

"I…missed you," she tries. But the words that come out are flat, and trembling with the weight of a thousand different emotions.

There is a long silence that stretches on for what seems like an eternity. She refuses to let herself hope. Not again. She starts to force her legs to walk away. But in that moment she hears _his_ voice, suspiciously thick, choke out the words, "Me, too."

She lets herself turn around, then.

There is a blue box. And a man in a blue suit.

And she is home.

* * *

**A/N:**

_I know, I know. But here it is, then._

_It's funny, but I have a memory in my head of starting this story all that time ago with the idea of making Martha stay. Because it always killed me that after everything that happened during the Year that Never Was, she chose to leave the Doctor. And he let her. I mean, logically I understood it; saw it as two broken people dealing the best they could…_

_But still…_

_And then I started writing _Memories_, and it caught me up and pulled me along, and I realized it was leading me to that same place where Martha once again chooses to leave._

_And it made sense. And it fit the story._

_And it broke my heart, dammit._

_So this chapter is the other story._

_The one where she stays._

_Thanks one last time to all of you who have reviewed and offered words of encouragement. It means a lot. And thanks to everyone out there who has been waiting all this time to read this, the last chapter._


	12. Epilogue

**Chapter 12: Epilogue**

* * *

They were sitting in the kitchen of the TARDIS. The Doctor had made up some tea. He hesitated after setting down the cups on the table.

"Why did you come back?"

She looked up, wondering if the question was a joke, if he really didn't know, didn't see. But his face was tight with anxiety, watching her, and she realized what she had to do.

"Do you know what I told them? What I told all those people?" Without waiting for an answer, Martha went on, her voice taking on the quality of telling a story. "My name isn't important. There's someone else. The man who sent me out there. The man who told me to walk the Earth. His name is the Doctor."

The Doctor looked stricken. "Martha…"

She didn't stop, continuing the familiar pattern of words. "He has saved your lives so many times, and you never even knew he was there. He never stops. He never stays. He never asks to be thanked." She held his eyes, wouldn't let him look away. "But I've seen him. I know him. I lo—." She flushed, and finished. "I know what he can do."

"I couldn't save you," he said, sitting down across from her. He said it matter of factly, but the eyes that were locked on hers couldn't quite hide the pain those words caused him.

And wasn't that the rub. But all of a sudden Martha saw differently. "No," she said, meeting his gaze. "You did."

… _In a thousand different ways on a thousand different days…_

"Memories," she said quietly. "It's all about memories."

The words seemed to strike a chord. The Doctor looked down then and seemed to be gathering himself. When he spoke, his words were unusually tentative. "I have all these memories," he said, "900 years worth. But sometimes all I can remember is—"

"All the faces," Martha said. She ignored the Doctor's quick look. "All the faces of all the people who…who died because of you."

The Doctor drew in a breath. "How—?" he started, before stopping.

She looked at him, then. "Because that's all I can remember, too."

"Ah." was all he said.

And she had a sudden need to get this out, to tell it to the one person who could possibly understand.

"How do you do it? How can you go on every day, bearing all that?" She was crying now, and furiously swiped at the betraying tears.

"Martha." She refused to look at him. "Martha, look at me." Unwillingly her head came to face him. There was concern in his eyes, but also…guilt?

"How do I go on? For a long time, after…after Gallifrey, I didn't." She was surprised how willingly he spoke that name. "But then…I found someone. Someone who…made me better."

_Rose_. But she found that this mention of her predecessor brought no pangs of jealousy, of anger. She thought he was done, but he wasn't. She could see him measuring the words. "I needed someone."

The words were simple, quiet, but she sensed how much they cost him. His next words flattened her. "I need you."

She stole a quick glance, trying to make out what he was saying.

"Because, thing is, you move on," he said. "But …" he looked at her, "it helps to have someone to share the memories with."

And then his eyes were dancing and his arms were around in a big, sweeping hug.

"My Martha Jones," he said.

Two lives.

This is the moment the next one begins.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

_And now, as this is the end, I would like to thank you faithful readers who have made it to the end with me. Hit that big green button (the Doctor would be proud) as a favor to me. Favorite chapter, favorite line, favorite flavor of toothpaste. It lets me know you care._


End file.
